liill    PIKliiilli 


C-0 


CONJUROR'S    HOUSE 


Beyond  the  butternut,  beyond  the  maple, 
beyo?id  the  white  pine  and  the  red,  beyond 
the  oak,  the  cedar,  and  the  beech,  beyond 
even  the  white  and  yellow  birches  lies  a 
Land,  and  in  that  Land  the  shadows  fall 
crimson  across  the  snow. 


^_ 
' 


La  Longue   Traverse,   "  Il'e  take  it,  togetlier,"   he  replied. 

(Page  2GO) 


CONJUROR  S    HOUSE 

A  Romance  of  the  Free  Forest 


BY 


[OR    OF    THE     WESTERNERS, 

THE  'Bi^A^FA  TRAIL,    .,  - ,    > 


NEW   YORK 
McCLURE,    PHILLIPS   8y   Co. 


COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY 
STEWART  EDWARD  WHITE 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


La  Longiie   Traverse,  "We  take  it   together,"  he 
replied Frontispiece 

"Quite  so,"  replied  the  young  man,  deliberately, 

"  La  Longue  Traverse" 32 

"Ah  lady,  lady  mine,"  broke  in  the  voice  softly     86 
Virginia  gasped  at  the  change  in  him  .     .     .     ,136 

She   smiled  up  at  him  with  trembling  lips   that 

whispered  to  her  soul  that  she  must  be  brave   188 

"I  have  more   to   do  with   it   than   you   think," 

she  replied .202 


965706 


CONJUROR'S    HOUSE 


Chapter  One 


The  girl  stood  on  a  banfo  sabove  &•  river 
flowing  north.  At  he? :>  back  crouched  ;a 
dozen  clean  whitewashed  buildings.  Before 
her  in  interminable  journey,  day  after  day, 
league  on  league  into  remoteness,  stretched 
the  stern  Northern  wilderness,  untrodden 
save  by  the  trappers,  the  Indians,  and  the 
beasts.  Close  about  the  little  settlement 
crept  the  balsams  and  spruce,  the  birch  and 
poplar,  behind  which  lurked  vast  dreary 
muskegs,  a  chaos  of  bowlder-splits,  the  for 
est.  The  girl  had  known  nothing  different 
for  many  years.  Once  a  summer  the  sail 
ing  ship  from  England  felt  its  frozen  way 


Conjurors  House 

through  the  Hudson  Straits,  down  the 
Hudson  Bay,  to  drop  anchor  in  the  mighty 
River  of  the  Moose.  Once  a  summer  a  six- 
fathom  canoe  manned  by  a  dozen  paddles 
struggled  down  the  waters  of  the  broken 
Abitibi.  Once  a  year  a  little  band  of  red- 
sashed  voyageur?  forced  their  exhausted 
sledge-dogs'  across  the  ice  from  some  unseen 
wilderness  trail.  That  was  all. 

Before  her  eyes  the  seasons  changed,  all 
grim,  but  one  by  the  very  pathos  of  brevity 
sad.  In  the  brief  luxuriant  summer  came 
the  Indians  to  trade  their  pelts,  came  the 
keepers  of  the  winter  posts  to  rest,  came 
the  ship  from  England  bringing  the  articles 
of  use  or  ornament  she  had  ordered  a  full 
year  before.  Within  a  short  time  all  were 
gone,  into  the  wilderness,  into  the  great 
unknown  world.  The  snow  fell;  the  river 
and  the  bay  froze.  Strange  men  from  the 
[2] 


Chapter  One 

North  glided  silently  to  the  Factor's  door, 
bearing  the  meat  and  pelts  of  the  seal. 
Bitter  iron  cold  shackled  the  northland,  the 
abode  of  desolation.  Armies  of  caribou 
drifted  by,  ghostly  under  the  aurora ; 
moose,  lordly  and  scornful,  stalked  ma 
jestically  along  the  shore  ;  wolves  howled 
invisible,  or  trotted  dog-like  in  organized 
packs  along  the  river  banks.  Day  and 
night  the  ice  artillery  thundered.  Night 
and  day  the  fireplaces  roared  defiance  to 
a  frost  they  could  not  subdue,  while  the 
people  of  desolation  crouched  beneath  the 
tyranny  of  winter. 

Then  the  upheaval  of  spring  with  the  ice- 
jams  and  terrors,  the  Moose  roaring  by  un 
tamable,  the  torrents  rising,  rising  foot  by 
foot  to  the  very  dooryard  of  her  father's 
house.  Strange  spirits  were  abroad  at 
night,  howling,  shrieking,  cracking  and 
[3] 


Conjuror's  House 

groaning  in  voices  of  ice  and  flood.  Her 
Indian  nurse  told  her  of  them  all — of  Ma- 
unabosho,  the  good ;  of  Nenaubosho  the 
evil — in  her  lisping  Ojibway  dialect  that 
sounded  like  the  softer  voices  of  the  forest. 

At  last  the  sudden  subsidence  of  the 
waters;  the  splendid  eager  blossoming  of 
the  land  into  new  leaves,  lush  grasses,  an 
abandon  of  sweetbrier  and  hepatica.  The 
air  blew  soft,  a  thousand  singing  birds 
sprang  from  the  soil,  the  wild  goose  cried  in 
triumph.  Overhead  shone  the  hot  sun  of 
the  Northern  summer. 

From  the  wilderness  came  the  brigades 
bearing  their  pelts,  the  hardy  traders  of  the 
winter  posts,  striking  hot  the  imagination 
through  the  mysterious  and  lonely  allure 
ment  of  their  callings.  For  a  brief  season, 
transient  as  the  flash  of  a  loon's  wing  on 
the  shadow  of  a  lake,  the  post  was  bright 
[4] 


Chapter  One 

with  the  thronging  of  many  people.  The 
Indians  pitched  their  wigwams  on  the  broad 
meadows  below  the  bend  ;  the  half-breeds 
sauntered  about,  flashing  bright  teeth  and 
wicked  dark  eyes  at  whom  it  might  con 
cern  ;  the  traders  gazed  stolidily  over  their 
little  black  pipes,  and  uttered  brief  sen 
tences  through  their  thick  black  beards. 
Everywhere  was  gay  sound  —  the  fiddle, 
the  laugh,  the  song ;  everywhere  was  gay 
color — the  red  sashes  of  the  voyageurs, 
the  beaded  moccasins  and  leggings  of  the 
metis,  the  capotes  of  the  brigade,  the  varie 
gated  costumes  of  the  Crees  and  Ojibways. 
Like  the  wild  roses  around  the  edge  of  the 
muskegs,  this  brief  flowering  of  the  year 
passed.  Again  the  nights  were  long,  again 
the  frost  crept  down  from  the  eternal  snow, 
again  the  wolves  howled  across  barren 
wastes. 

[5] 


Conjurors  House 

Just  now  the  girl  stood  ankle-deep  in 
green  grasses,  a  bath  of  sunlight  falling 
about  her,  a  tingle  of  salt  wind  humming 
up  the  river  from  the  bay's  offing.  She 
was  clad  in  gray  wool,  and  wore  no  hat. 
Her  soft  hair,  the  color  of  ripe  wheat, 
blew  about  her  temples,  shadowing  eyes  of 
fathomless  black.  The  wind  had  brought 
to  the  light  and  delicate  brown  of  her  com 
plexion  a  trace  of  color  to  match  her  lips, 
whose  scarlet  did  not  fade  after  the  ordinary 
and  imperceptible  manner  into  the  tinge 
of  her  skin,  but  continued  vivid  to  the  very 
edge  ;  her  eyes  were  wide  and  unseeing. 
One  hand  rested  idly  on  the  breech  of  an 
ornamented  bronze  field-gun. 

McDonald,  the  chief  trader,  passed   from 

the  house  to  the  store  where  his  bartering 

with  the  Indians  was  daily  carried  on  ;  the 

other  Scotchman  in  the  Post,  Galen  Albret, 

[6] 


Chapter  One 

her  father,  and  the  head  Factor  of  all  this 
region,  paced  back  and  forth  across  the  ve 
randa  of  the  factory,  caressing  his  white 
beard ;  up  by  the  stockade,  young  Achille 
Picard  tuned  his  whistle  to  the  note  of 
the  curlew;  across  the  meadow  from  the 
church  wandered  Crane,  the  little  Church 
of  England  missionary,  peering  from  short 
sighted  pale  blue  eyes ;  beyond  the  coulee, 
Sarnier  and  his  Indians  chock-chock-chocked 
away  at  the  seams  of  the  long  coast-trading 
bateau.  The  girl  saw  nothing,  heard  noth 
ing.  She  was  dreaming,  she  was  trying  to 
remember. 

In  the  lines  of  her  slight  figure,  in  its  pose 
there  by  the  old  gun  over  the  old,  old  river, 
was  the  grace  of  gentle  blood,  the  pride 
of  caste.  Of  all  this  region  her  father  was 
the  absolute  lord,  feared,  loved,  obeyed  by 
all  its  human  creatures.  When  he  went 
[7] 


Conjuror's  House 

abroad,  he  travelled  in  a  state  almost 
mediaeval  in  its  magnificence ;  when  he 
stopped  at  home,  men  came  to  him  from 
the  Albany,  the  Kenogami,  the  Missinaibe, 
the  Mattagami,  the  Abitibi — from  all  the 
rivers  of  the  North — to  receive  his  com 
mands.  Way  was  made  for  him,  his  light 
est  word  was  attended.  In  his  house  dwelt 
ceremony,  and  of  his  house  she  was  the 
princess.  Unconsciously  she  had  taken 
the  gracious  habit  of  command.  She  had 
come  to  value  her  smile,  her  word,  to 
value  herself.  The  lady  of  a  realm 
greater  than  the  countries  of  Europe,  she 
moved  serene,  pure,  lofty  amid  depend 
ants. 

And  as  the  lady  of  this  realm   she   did 

honor  to  her  father's  guests — sitting  stately 

behind  the  beautiful  silver  service,   below 

the    portrait    of   the    Company's    greatest 

[8] 


Chapter  One 

explorer,  Sir  George  Simpson,  dispensing 
crude  fare  in  gracious  manner,  listening 
silently  to  the  conversation,  finally  with 
drawing  at  the  last  with  a  sweeping  cour 
tesy  to  play  soft,  melancholy,  and  world-for 
gotten  airs  on  the  old  piano,  brought  over 
years  before  by  the  Lady  Head,  while  the 
guests  made  merry  with  the  mellow  port 
and  ripe  Manila  cigars  which  the  Company 
supplied  its  servants.  Then  coffee,  still 
with  her  natural  Old  World  charm  of  the 
grande  dame.  Such  guests  were  not  many, 
nor  came  often.  There  was  McTavish  of 
Rupert's  House,  a  three  days'  journey  to 
the  northeast;  Rand  of  Fort  Albany,  a 
week's  travel  to  the  northwest;  Mault  of 
Fort  George,  ten  days  beyond  either,  all 
grizzled  in  the  Company's  service.  With 
them  came  their  clerks,  mostly  English  and 
Scotch  younger  sons,  with  a  vast  respect 
[9] 


Conjurors  House 

for  the  Company,  and  a  vaster  for  their 
Factor's  daughter.  Once  in  two  or  three 
years  appeared  the  inspectors  from  Winni 
peg,  true  lords  of  the  North,  with  their  six- 
fathom  canoes,  their  luxurious  furs,  their 
red  banners  trailing  like  gonfalons  in  the 
water.  Then  this  post  of  Conjuror's 
House  feasted  and  danced,  undertook  gay 
excursions,  discussed  in  public  or  private 
conclave  weighty  matters,  grave  and  rev 
erend  advices,  cautions,  and  commands. 
They  went.  Desolation  again  crept  in. 

The  girl  dreamed.  She  was  trying  to 
remember.  Far-off,  half- forgotten  visions 
of  brave,  courtly  men,  of  gracious,  beautiful 
women,  peopled  the  clouds  of  her  imagin 
ings.  She  heard  them  again,  as  voices  be 
neath  the  roar  of  rapids,  like  far-away  bells 
tinkling  faintly  through  a  wind,  pitying  her, 
exclaiming  over  her ;  she  saw  them  dim  and 
[10] 


Chapter  One 

changing,  as  wraiths  of  a  fog,  as  shadow 
pictures  in  a  mist  beneath  the  moon, 
leaning  to  her  with  bright,  shining  eyes 
full  of  compassion  for  the  little  girl  who  was 
to  go  so  far  away  into  an  unknown  land ; 
she  felt  them,  as  the  touch  of  a  breeze 
when  the  night  is  still,  fondling  her,  clasp 
ing  her,  tossing  her  aloft  in  farewell.  One 
she  felt  plainly — a  gallant  youth  who  held 
her  up  for  all  to  see.  One  she  saw  clearly 
— a  dewy-eyed,  lovely  woman  who  mur 
mured  loving,  broken  words.  One  she 
heard  distinctly — a  gentle  voice  that  said, 
"  God's  love  be  with  you,  little  one,  for  you 
have  far  to  go,  and  many  days  to  pass 
before  you  see  Quebec  again."  And  the 
girl's  eyes  suddenly  swam  bright,  for  the 
northland  was  very  dreary.  She  threw  her 
palms  out  in  a  gesture  of  weariness. 
Then  her  arms  dropped,  her  eyes  widened, 


Conjurors  House 

her  head  bent  forward  in  the   attitude   of 
listening. 

"Achille!"  she   called,  "Achille!     Come 
here ! " 

The  young  fellow  approached  respectfully. 

"  Mademoiselle  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Don't  you  hear  ?  "  she  said. 

Faint,  between  intermittent  silences,  came 
the  singing  of  men's  voices  from  the  south. 

"  Grace  a  Dieu  !  "  cried  Achille.    "  Eet  is 
so.     Eet  is  dat  brigade  !  " 

He  ran  shouting  toward  the  factory. 


Chapter  Two 


Men,  women,  dogs,  children  sprang  into 
sight  from  nowhere,  and  ran  pell-mell  to 
the  two  cannon.  Galen  Albret,  reappear 
ing  from  the  factory,  began  to  issue  orders. 
Two  men  set  about  hoisting  on  the  tall 
flag-staff  the  blood-red  banner  of  the  Com 
pany.  Speculation,  excited  and  earnest, 
arose  among  the  men  as  to  which  of  the 
branches  of  the  Moose  this  brigade  had 
hunted — the  Abitibi,  the  Mattagami,  or  the 
Missinaibie.  The  half-breed  women  shaded 
their  eyes.  Mrs.  Cockburn,  the  doctor's 
wife,  and  the  only  other  white  woman  in 
the  settlement,  came  and  stood  by  Virginia 
[13] 


Conjurors  House 

Albret's  side.  Wishkobun,  the  Ojibway 
woman  from  the  south  country,  and  Vir 
ginia's  devoted  familiar,  took  her  half-jeal 
ous  stand  on  the  other. 

"  It  is  the  same  every  year.  We  always 
like  to  see  them  come,"  said  Mrs.  Cockburn, 
in  her  monotonous  low  voice  of  resigna 
tion. 

"Yes,"  replied  Virginia,  moving  a  little 
impatiently,  for  she  anticipated  eagerly  the 
picturesque  coming  of  these  men  of  the  Si 
lent  Places,  and  wished  to  savor  the  pleas 
ure  undistracted. 

"  Mi-di-mo-yay  ka'-win-ni-shi-shin,"  said 
Wishkobun,  quietly. 

"  Ae,"  replied  Virginia,  with  a  little  laugh, 
patting  the  woman's  brown  hand. 

A  shout  arose.     Around  the  bend  shot  a 
canoe.     At   once    every  paddle  in  it  was 
raised  to  a  perpendicular  salute,  then  all  to- 
[14] 


Chapter  Two 

gether  dashed  into  the  water  with  the  full 
strength  of  the  voyageurs  wielding  them. 
The  canoe  fairly  leaped  through  the  cloud 
ot  spray.  Another  rounded  the  bend,  an 
other  double  row  of  paddles  flashed  in  the 
sunlight,  another  crew  broke  into  a  tumult 
of  rapid  exertion  as  they  raced  the  last 
quarter  mile  of  the  long  journey.  A  third 
burst  into  view,  a  fourth,  a  fifth.  The  si 
lent  river  was  alive  with  motion,  glittering 
with  color.  The  canoes  swept  onward,  like 
race-horses  straining  against  the  rider.  Now 
the  spectators  could  make  out  plainly  the 
boatmen.  It  could  be  seen  that  they  had 
decked  themselves  out  for  the  occasion. 
Their  heads  were  bound  with  bright-col 
ored  fillets,  their  necks  with  gay  scarves. 
The  paddles  were  adorned  with  gaudy 
woollen  streamers.  New  leggings,  of  hol 
iday  pattern,  were  intermittently  visible 
[15] 


Conjuror's  House 

on  the  bowsmen  and  steersmen  as  they 
half  rose  to  give  added  force  to  their 
efforts. 

At  first  the  men  sang  their  canoe  songs, 
but  as  the  swift  rush  of  the  birch-barks 
brought  them  almost  to  their  journey's  end, 
they  burst  into  wild  shrieks  and  whoops  of 
delight. 

All  at  once  they  were  close  to  hand.  The 
steersman  rose  to  throw  his  entire  weight 
on  the  paddle.  The  canoe  swung  abruptly 
for  the  shore.  Those  in  it  did  not  relax 
their  exertions,  but  continued  their  vigorous 
strokes  until  within  a  few  yards  of  apparent 
destruction. 

66  Hola !  hola !  "  they  cried,  thrusting  their 
paddles  straight  down  into  the  water  with 

a  strong  backward  twist.     The  stout  wood 

I 
bent  and  cracked.    The  canoe  stopped  short 

and  the  voyageurs  leaped  ashore  to  be  swal- 
[16] 


Chapter  Two 

lowed  up  in  the  crowd  that  swarmed  down 
upon  them. 

The  races  were  about  equally  divided,  and 
each  acted  after  its  instincts — the  Indian 
greeting  his  people  quietly,  and  stalking 
away  to  the  privacy  of  his  wigwam ;  the 
more  volatile  white  catching  his  wife  or  his 
sweetheart  or  his  child  to  his  arms.  A 
swarm  of  Indian  women  and  half-grown 
children  set  about  unloading  the  canoes. 

Virginia's  eyes  ran  over  the  crews  of  the 
various  craft.  She  recognized  them  all,  of 
course,  to  the  last  Indian  packer,  for  in  so 
small  a  community  the  personality  and  do 
ings  of  even  the  humblest  members  are  well 
known  to  everyone.  Long  since  she  had 
identified  the  brigade.  It  was  of  the  Mis- 
sinaibie,  the  great  river  whose  head- waters 
rise  a  scant  hundred  feet  from  those  that 
flow  as  many  miles  south  into  Lake  Supe- 
[17] 


Conjurors  House 

rior.  It  drains  a  wild  and  rugged  country 
whose  forests  cling  to  bowlder  hills,  whose 
streams  issue  from  deep-riven  gorges,  where 
for  many  years  the  big  gray  wolves  had 
gathered  in  unusual  abundance.  She  knew 
by  heart  the  winter  posts,  although  she  had 
never  seen  them.  She  could  imagine  the 
isolation  of  such  a  place,  and  the  intense 
loneliness  of  the  solitary  man  condemned  to 
live  through  the  dark  Northern  winters,  see 
ing  no  one  but  the  rare  Indians  who  might 
come  in  to  trade  with  him  for  their  pelts. 
She  could  appreciate  the  wild  joy  of  a  re 
turn  for  a  brief  season  to  the  company  of 
fellow-men. 

When  her  glance  fell  upon  the  last  of  the 
canoes,  it  rested  with  a  flash  of  surprise. 
The  craft  was  still  floating  idly,  its  bow 
barely  caught  against  the  bank.  The  crew 
had  deserted,  but  amidships,  among  the 
[18] 


Chapter  Two 

packages  of  pelts  and  duffel,  sat  a  stranger. 
The  canoe  was  that  of  the  post  at  Kettle 
Portage. 

She  saw  the  stranger  to  be  a  young  man 
with  a  clean-cut  face,  a  trim  athletic  figure 
dressed  in  the  complete  costume  of  the  voy- 
ageurs,  and  thin  brown  and  muscular  hands. 
When  the  canoe  touched  the  bank  he  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  scramble  to  shore,  and 
so  had  sat  forgotten  and  unnoticed  save  by 
the  girl,  his  figure  erect  with  something 
of  the  Indian's  stoical  indifference.  Then 
when,  for  a  moment,  he  imagined  himself 
free  from  observation,  his  expression  abrupt 
ly  changed.  His  hands  clenched  tense  be 
tween  his  buckskin  knees,  his  eyes  glanced 
here  and  there  restlessly,  and  an  indefinable 
shadow  of  something  which  Virginia  felt 
herself  obtuse  in  labelling  desperation,  and 
yet  to  which  she  discovered  it  impossible  to 
[19] 


Conjuror's  House 

fit  a  name,  descended  on  his  features,  dark 
ening  them.  Twice  he  glanced  away  to  the 
south.  Twice  he  ran  his  eye  over  the  vo 
ciferating  crowd  on  the  narrow  beach. 

Absorbed  in  the  silent  drama  of  a  man's 
unguarded  expression,  Virginia  leaned  for 
ward  eagerly.  In  some  vague  manner  it 
was  borne  in  on  her  that  once  before  she 
had  experienced  the  same  emotion,  had 
come  into  contact  with  someone,  something, 
that  had  affected  her  emotionally  just  as 
this  man  did  now.  But  she  could  not  place 
it.  Over  and  over  again  she  forced  her 
mind  to  the  very  point  of  recollection,  but 
always  it  slipped  back  again  from  the  verge 
of  attainment.  Then  a  little  movement, 
some  thrust  forward  of  the  head,  some  ner 
vous,  rapid  shifting  of  the  hands  or  feet,  some 
unconscious  poise  of  the  shoulders,  brought 
the  scene  flashing  before  her — the  white 
[20] 


Chapter  Two 

snow,  the  still  forest,  the  little  square  pen- 
trap,  the  wolverine,  desperate  but  cool, 
thrusting  its  blunt  nose  quickly  here  and 
there  in  baffled  hope  of  an  orifice  of  escape. 
Somehow  the  man  reminded  her  of  the 
animal,  the  fierce  little  woods  marauder, 
trapped  and  hopeless,  but  scorning  to 
cower  as  would  the  gentler  creatures  of  the 
forest. 

Abruptly  his  expression  changed  again. 
His  figure  stiffened,  the  muscles  of  his  face 
turned  iron.  Virginia  saw  that  someone  on 
the  beach  had  pointed  toward  him.  His 
mask  was  on. 

The  first  burst  of  greeting  was  over. 
Here  and  there  one  or  another  of  the 
brigade  members  jerked  their  heads  in  the 
stranger's  direction,  explaining  low-voiced 
to  their  companions.  Soon  all  eyes  turned 
curiously  toward  the  canoe.  A  hum  of 


Conjurors  House 

low- voiced    comment    took   the    place    of 
louder  delight. 

The  stranger,  finding  himself  generally  ob 
served,  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  picked  his 
way  with  a  certain  exaggerated  deliberation 
of  movement  over  the  duffel  lying  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe,  until  he  reached  the 
bow,  where  he  paused,  one  foot  lifted  to 
the  gunwale  just  above  the  emblem  of  the 
painted  star.  Immediately  a  dead  silence 
fell.  Groups  shifted,  drew  apart,  and 
together  again,  like  the  slow  agglomeration 
of  sawdust  on  the  surface  of  water,  until  at 
last  they  formed  in  a  semicircle  of  staring, 
whose  centre  was  the  bow  of  the  canoe  and 
the  stranger  from  Kettle  Portage.  The 
men  scowled,  the  women  regarded  him 
with  a  half-fearful  curiosity. 

Virginia  Albret  shivered  in  the  shock  of 
this  sudden  electric  polarity.  The  man 


Chapter  Two 

seemed  alone  against  a  sullen,  unexplained 
hostility.  The  desperation  she  had  thought 
to  read  but  a  moment  before  had  vanished 
utterly,  leaving  in  its  place  a  scornful  in 
difference  and  perhaps  more  than  a  trace  of 
recklessness.  He  was  ripe  for  an  outbreak. 
She  did  not  in  the  least  understand,  but  she 
knew  it  from  the  depths  of  her  woman's 
instinct,  and  unconsciously  her  sympathies 
flowed  out  to  this  man,  alone  without  a 
greeting  where  all  others  came  to  their  own. 
For  perhaps  a  full  sixty  seconds  the  new 
comer  stood  uncertain  what  he  should  do, 
or  perhaps  waiting  for  some  word  or  act 
to  tip  the  balance  of  his  decision.  One 
after  another  those  on  shore  felt  the  inso 
lence  of  his  stare,  and  shifted  uneasily. 
Then  his  deliberate  scrutiny  rose  to  the 
group  by  the  cannon.  Virginia  caught  her 
breath  sharply0  In  spite  of  herself  she 


Conjurors  House 

could  not  turn  away.  The  stranger's  eye 
crossed  her  own.  She  saw  the  hard  look 
fade  into  pleased  surprise.  Instantly  his 
hat  swept  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe.  He 
stepped  magnificently  ashore.  The  crisis 
was  over.  Not  a  word  had  been  spoken. 


[24] 


Chapter  Three 


Galen  Albret  sat  in  his  rough-hewn  arm 
chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  receiving  the 
reports  of  his  captains.  The  long,  narrow 
room  opened  before  him,  heavy  raftered, 
massive,  white,  with  a  cavernous  fireplace 
at  either  end.  Above  him  frowned  Sir 
George's  portrait,  at  his  right  hand  and  his 
left  stretched  the  row  of  home-made  heavy 
chairs,  finished  smooth  and  dull  by  two 
centuries  of  use. 

His  arms  were  laid  along  the  arms  of  his 

seat ;    his  shaggy  head  was   sunk   forward 

until  his  beard  swept  the  curve  of  his  big 

chest;    the  heavy  tufts  of  hair   above   his 

[25] 


Conjurors  House 

eyes  were  drawn  steadily  together  in  a 
frown  of  attention.  One  after  another  the 
men  arose  and  spoke.  He  made  no  move 
ment,  gave  no  sign,  his  short,  powerful  form 
blotted  against  the  lighter  silhouette  of  his 
chair,  only  his  eyes  and  the  white  of  his 
beard  gleaming  out  of  the  dusk. 

Kern  of  Old  Brunswick  House,  Achard 
of  New ;  Ki-wa-nee,  the  Indian  of  Fly 
ing  Post — these  and  others  told  briefly  of 
many  things,  each  in  his  own  language. 
To  all  Galen  Albret  listened  in  silence. 
Finally  Louis  Placide  from  the  post  at 
Kettle  Portage  got  to  his  feet.  He  too 
reported  of  the  trade, — so  many  "  beaver  " 
of  tobacco,  of  powder,  of  lead,  of  pork,  of 
flour,  of  tea,  given  in  exchange ;  so  many 
mink,  otter,  beaver,  ermine,  marten,  and 
fisher  pelts  taken  in  return.  Then  he 
paused  and  went  on  at  greater  length  in 
[26] 


Chapter  Three 

regard  to  the  stranger,  speaking  evenly  but 
with  emphasis.  When  he  had  finished, 
Galen  Albret  struck  a  bell  at  his  elbow. 
Me-en-gan,  the  bowsman  of  the  factor's 
canoe,  entered,  followed  closely  by  the 
young  man  who  had  that  afternoon  arrived. 

He  was  dressed  still  in  his  costume  of  the 
voyageur — the  loose  blouse  shirt,  the  buck 
skin  leggings  and  moccasins,  the  long  tas- 
selled  red  sash.  His  head  was  as  high  and 
his  glance  as  free,  but  now  the  steel  blue  of 
his  eye  had  become  steady  and  wary,  and 
two  faint  lines  had  traced  themselves  be 
tween  his  brows.  At  his  entrance  a  hush 
of  expectation  fell.  Galen  Albret  did  not 
stir,  but  the  others  hitched  nearer  the  long, 
narrow  table,  and  two  or  three  leaned  both 
elbows  on  it  the  better  to  catch  what 
should  ensue. 

Me-en-gan   stopped  by  the  door,  but  the 
[27] 


Conjurors  House 

stranger  walked  steadily  the  length  of  the 
room  until  he  faced  the  Factor.  Then  he 
paused  and  waited  collectedly  for  the  other 
to  speak. 

This  the  Factor  did  not  at  once  begin  to 
do,  but  sat  impassive — apparently  without 
thought — while  the  heavy  breathing  of  the 
men  in  the  room  marked  off  the  seconds 
of  time.  Finally  abruptly  Galen  Albret's 
cavernous  voice  boomed  forth.  Something 
there  was  strangely  mysterious,  cryptic,  in 
the  virile  tones  issuing  from  a  bulk  so  mas 
sive  and  inert.  Galen  Albret  did  not  move, 
did  not  even  raise  the  heavy-lidded,  dull 
stare  of  his  eyes  to  the  young  man  who 
stood  before  him ;  hardly  did  his  broad  arched 
chest  seem  to  rise  and  fall  with  the  respira 
tion  of  speech ;  and  yet  each  separate  word 
leaped  forth  alive,  instinct  with  authority. 

"Once    at    Leftfoot   Lake,    two   Indians 
[28] 


Chapter  Three 

caught  you  asleep,"  he  pronounced. 
8 '  They  took  your  pelts  and  arms,  and 
escorted  you  to  Sudbury.  They  were  my 
Indians.  Once  on  the  upper  Abitibi  you 
were  stopped  by  a  man  named  Herbert, 
who  warned  you  from  the  country,  after 
relieving  you  of  your  entire  outfit.  He 
told  you  on  parting  what  you  might  expect 
if  you  should  repeat  the  attempt — severe 
measures,  the  severest.  Herbert  was  my 
man.  Now  Louis  Placide  surprises  you  in 
a  rapids  near  Kettle  Portage  and  brings 
you  here." 

During  the  slow  delivering  of  these  accu 
rately  spaced  words,  the  attitude  of  the  men 
about  the  long,  narrow  table  gradually 
changed.  Their  curiosity  had  been  great 
before,  but  now  their  intellectual  interest 
was  awakened,  for  these  were  facts  of  which 
Louis  Placide's  statement  had  given  no 
[29] 


Conjuror's  House 

inkling.  Before  them,  for  the  dealing,  was 
a  problem  of  the  sort  whose  solution  had 
earned  for  Galen  Albret  a  reputation  in  the 
north  country.  They  glanced  at  one  an 
other  to  obtain  the  sympathy  of  attention, 
then  back  toward  their  chief  in  anxious 
expectation  of  his  next  words.  The 
stranger,  however,  remained  unmoved.  A 
faint  smile  had  sketched  the  outline  of  his 
lips  when  first  the  Factor  began  to  speak. 
This  smile  he  maintained  to  the  end.  As 
the  older  man  paused,  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  All  of  that  is  quite  true,"  he  admitted. 

Even  the  unimaginative  men  of  the  Silent 
Places  started  at  these  simple  words,  and 
vouchsafed  to  their  speaker  a  more  sympa* 
thetic  attention.  For  the  tones  in  which 
they  were  delivered  possessed  that  deep, 
rich  throat  timbre  which  so  often  means 
[30] 


Chapter  Three 

power  —  personal  magnetism  —  deep,  from 
the  chest,  with  vibrant  throat  tones  sug 
gesting  a  volume  of  sound  which  may  in 
fact  be  only  hinted  by  the  loudness  the 
man  at  the  moment  sees  fit  to  employ. 
Such  a  voice  is  a  responsive  instrument  on 
which  emotion  and  mood  play  wonderfully 
seductive  strains. 

"All  of  that  is  quite  true,"  he  repeated 
after  a  second's  pause  ;  "  but  what  has  it  to 
do  with  me  ?  Why  am  I  stopped  and  sent 
out  from  the  free  forest  ?  I  am  really  curi 
ous  to  know  your  excuse." 

"This,"  replied  Galen  Albret,  weightily, 
"  is  my  domain.  I  tolerate  no  rivalry  here." 

"  Your  right  ?  "  demanded  the  young  man, 
briefly. 

"  I  have  made  the  trade,  and  I  intend  to 
keep  it." 

"  In   other   words,   the    strength   of  your 
[31] 


Conjuror  s  House 

good  right  arm,"  supplemented  the  stranger, 
with  the  faintest  hint  of  a  sneer. 

66  That  is  neither  here  nor  there,"  rejoined 
Galen  Albret,  "the  point  is  that  I  intend 
to  keep  it.  I've  had  you  sent  out,  but  you 
have  been  too  stupid  or  too  obstinate  to  take 
the  hint.  Now  I  have  to  warn  you  in  per 
son.  I  shall  send  you  out  once  more,  but 
this  time  you  must  promise  me  not  to  med 
dle  with  the  trade  again." 

He  paused  for  a  response.  The  young 
man's  smile  merely  became  accentuated. 

"  I  have  means  of  making  my  wishes  felt,51 
warned  the  Factor. 

"Quite  so,"  replied  the  young  man,  de 
liberately,  " La  Longue  Traverse" 

At  this  unexpected  pronouncement  of  that 
dread  name  two  of  the  men  swore  violently ; 
the  others  thrust  back  their  chairs  and  sat, 
their  arms  rigidly  braced  against  the  table's 


Quite  so,"  replied  tlie  young  man,  deliberately,  "La  Longtte 
Traverse." 


Chapter  Three 

edge,  staring  wide-eyed  and  open-mouthed 
at  the  speaker.  Only  Galen  Albret  re 
mained  unmoved. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  he  asked, 
calmly. 

"It  amuses  you  to  be  ignorant,"  replied 
the  stranger,  with  some  contempt.  "  Don't 
you  think  this  farce  is  about  played  out  ?  I 
do.  If  you  think  you're  deceiving  me  any 
with  this  show  of  formality,  you're  mightily 
mistaken.  Don't  you  suppose  I  knew  what 
I  was  about  when  I  came  into  this  country? 
Don't  you  suppose  I  had  weighed  the  risks 
and  had  made  up  my  mind  to  take  my 
medicine  if  I  should  be  caught?  Your 
methods  are  not  quite  so  secret  as  you  im 
agine.  I  know  perfectly  well  what  happens 
to  Free  Traders  in  Rupert's  Land." 

"  You  seem  very  certain  of  your  informa 
tion." 

[33] 


Conjurors  House 

"  Your  men  seem  equally  so,"  pointed  out 
the  stranger. 

Galen  Albret,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
young  man's  longer  speech,  had  sunk  al 
most  immediately  into  his  passive  calm — 
the  calm  of  great  elemental  bodies,  the  calm 
of  a  force  so  vast  as  to  rest  motionless  by 
the  very  static  power  of  its  mass.  When 
he  spoke  again,  it  was  in  the  tentative  man 
ner  of  his  earlier  interrogatory,  committing 
himself  not  at  all,  seeking  to  plumb  his  op 
ponent's  knowledge. 

"  Why,  if  you  have  realized  the  gravity, 
of  your  situation  have  you  persisted  after 
having  been  twice  warned  ? "  he  inquired. 

"  Because  you're  not  the  boss  of  creation," 
replied  the  young  man,  bluntly. 

Galen  Albret  merely  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  I've  got  as  much  business  in  this  country 
as  you  have,"  continued  the  young  man,  his 
[34] 


Chapter  Three 

tone  becoming  more  incisive.  "  You  don't 
seem  to  realize  that  your  charter  of  monop 
oly  has  expired.  If  the  government  was 
worth  a  damn  it  would  see  to  you  fellows. 
You  have  no  more  right  to  order  me  out  of 
here  than  I  would  have  to  order  you  out. 
Suppose  some  old  Husky  up  on  Whale 
River  should  send  you  word  that  you 
weren't  to  trap  in  the  Whale  River  dis 
trict  next  winter.  I'll  bet  you'd  be  there. 
You  Hudson  Bay  men  tried  the  same 
game  out  west.  It  didn't  work.  You  ask 
your  western  men  if  they  ever  heard  of 
Ned  Trent." 

"Your  success  does  not  seem  to  have 
followed  you  here,"  suggested  the  Factor, 
ironically. 

The  young  man  smiled. 

" This  Longue  Traverse"  went  on  Albret, 

"what  is  your  idea  there?     I  have  heard 

[35] 


Conjuror  s  House 

something   of  it.     What   is  your  informa 
tion?" 

Ned  Trent  laughed  outright.  "  You  don't 
imagine  there  is  any  secret  about  that ! "  he 
marvelled.  "  Why,  every  child  north  of 
the  Line  knows  that.  You  will  send  me 
away  without  arms,  and  with  but  a  handful 
of  provisions.  If  the  wilderness  and  starva 
tion  fail,  your  runners  will  not.  I  shall 
never  reach  the  Temiscamingues  alive." 

"  The  same  old  legend,"  commented  Galen 
Albret  in  apparent  amusement,  "  I  heard  it 
when  I  first  came  to  this  country.  You'll 
find  a  dozen  such  in  every  Indian  camp." 

"  Jo  Bagneau,  Morris  Proctor,  John  May, 
William  Jarvis,"  checked  off  the  young  man 
on  his  fingers. 

"Personal  enmity,"  replied  the  Factor. 

He  glanced  up  to  meet  the  young  man's 
steady,  sceptical  smile. 
[36] 


Chapter  Three 

"  You  do  not  believe  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  if  it  amuses  you,"  conceded  the 
stranger. 

"  The  thing  is  not  even  worth  discussion." 

"  Remarkable  sensation  among  our  friends 
here  for  so  idle  a  tale." 

Galen  Albret  considered. 

"  You  will  remember  that  throughout  you 
have  forced  this  interview,"  he  pointed  out. 
"  Now  I  must  ask  your  definite  promise  to 
get  out  of  this  country  and  to  stay  out." 

"  No,"  replied  Ned  Trent. 

"Then  a  means  shall  be  found  to  make 
you ! "  threatened  the  Factor,  his  anger 
blazing  at  last. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  stranger  softly. 

Galen  Albret  raised  his  hand  and  let  it 
fall.  The  bronzed  and  gaudily  bedecked 
men  filed  out. 

[37] 


Chapter  Four 


In  the  open  air  the  men  separated  in  quest 
of  their  various  families  or  friends.  The 
stranger  lingered  undecided  for  a  moment 
on  the  top  step  of  the  veranda,  and  then 
wandered  down  the  little  street,  if  street  it 
could  be  called  where  horses  there  were 
none.  On  the  left  ranged  the  square  white 
washed  houses  with  their  dooryards,  the  old 
church,  the  workshop.  To  the  right  was  a 
broad  grass-plot,  and  then  the  Moose,  slip 
ping  by  to  the  distant  offing.  Over  a  little 
bridge  the  stranger  idled,  looking  curiously 
about  him.  The  great  trading-house  at 
tracted  his  attention,  with  its  narrow  picket 
[38] 


Chapter  Four 

lane  leading  to  the  door  ;  the  storehouse  sur 
rounded  by  a  protective  log  fence ;  the  fort 
itself,  a  medley  of  heavy- timbered  stockades 
and  square  block- houses.  After  a  moment 
he  resumed  his  strolling.  Everywhere  he 
went  the  people  looked  at  him,  ceasing  their 
varied  occupations.  No  one  spoke  to  him, 
no  one  hindered  him.  To  all  intents  and 
purposes  he  was  as  free  as  the  air.  But  all 
about  the  island  flowed  the  barrier  of  the 
Moose,  and  beyond  frowned  the  wilderness 
— strong  as  iron  bars  to  an  unarmed  man. 

Brooding  on  his  imprisonment  the  Free 
Trader  forgot  his  surroundings.  The  post, 
the  river,  the  forest,  the  distant  bay  faded 
from  his  sight,  and  he  fell  into  deep  reflec 
tion.  There  remained  nothing  of  physical 
consciousness  but  a  sense  of  the  grateful 
spring  warmth  from  the  declining  sun.  At 
length  he  became  vaguely  aware  of  some- 
[39] 


Conjuror's  House 

thing  else.  He  glanced  up.  Right  by  him 
he  saw  a  handsome  French  half-breed 
sprawled  out  in  the  sun  against  a  building, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  face  and  flashing 
up  at  him  a  friendly  smile. 

6 'Hullo,"  said  Achille  Picard,  "you  mus' 
been  'sleep.  I  call  you  two  free  tarn." 

The  prisoner  seemed  to  find  something 
grateful  in  the  greeting  even  from  the 
enemy's  camp.  Perhaps  it  merely  happened 
upon  the  psychological  moment  for  a  re 
sponse. 

"Hullo,"  he  returned,  and  seated  himself 
by  the  man's  side,  lazily  stretching  himself 
in  enjoyment  of  the  reflected  heat. 

"  You  is  come  off  Kettle  Portage,  eh,"  said 
Achille,  "I  t'ink  so.  You  is  come  trade 
dose  fur  ?  Eet  is  bad  beez-ness,  dis  Conjur' 
House.  Ole'  man  he  no  lak'  dat  you  trade 
dose  fur.  Hes  very  hard,  dat  ole  man." 
[40] 


Chapter  Four 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  he  has  got 
to  be,  I  suppose.  This  is  the  country  of 
la  Longue  Traverse" 

66 1  beleef  you,"  responded  Achille,  cheer 
fully  ;  "  w'at  you  call  heem  your  nam'  ?  " 

"  Ned  Trent." 

"Me  Achille  —  Achille  Picard.  I  capi- 
taine  of  dose  dogs  on  dat  winter  brigade." 

"It  is  a  hard  post.  The  winter  travel  is 
pretty  tough." 

"  I  beleef  you." 

"Better  to  take  la  Longue  Traverse  in 
summer,  eh  ?  " 

"  La  Longue  Traverse — hees  not  mattaire 
w'en  yo  tak'  heem." 

"Right  you  are.  Have  there  been  men 
sent  out  since  you  came  here  ? " 

"Bd  oui.  Wan,  two,  free.  I  don'  re 
member.  I  t'ink  Jo  Bagneau.  Nobodee 
he  don'  know,  but  dat  ole  man  an'  hees 
[41] 


Conjurors  House 

coureurs  du  bois.     He  ees  wan  ver1  great 
man.     Nobodee  is  know  w'at  he  will  do." 

"  I'm  due  to  hit  that  trail  myself,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Ned  Trent. 

"I  have  t'ink  so,"  acknowledged  Achille, 
still  with  a  tone  of  most  engaging  cheerful 
ness. 

"Shall  I  be  sent  out  at  once,  do  you 
think?" 

"  I  don'  know.  Sometam'  dat  ole  man 
ver'  queek.  Sometam'  he  ver'  slow.  One 
day  Injun  mak'  heem  ver'  mad  ;  he  let 
heem  go,  and  shot  dat  Injun  right  off. 
Noder  tarn  he  get  mad  on  one  voyageur, 
but  he  don'  keel  heem  queek  ;  he  bring 
heem  here,  mak'  heem  stay  in  dose  warm 
room,  feed  heem  dose  plaintee  grub.  Purty 
soon  dose  voyageur  is  get  fat,  is  go  sof ;  he 
no  good  for  dose  trail.  Ole  man  he  mak' 
heem  go  ver'  far  off,  mos'  to  Whale  Reever. 
[42] 


Chapter  Four 

Eet  is  plaintee  cole.  Dat  voyageur,  he 
freeze  to  hees  inside.  Dey  tell  me  he  feex 
heem  like  dat." 

"  Achille,  you  haven't  anything  against  me 
— do  you  want  me  to  die  ?  " 

The  half-breed  flashed  his  white  teeth. 

" Bd  non"  he  replied,  carelessly.  " For 
w'at  I  want  dat  you  die  ?  I  t'ink  you  bus' 
up  bad  ;  vous  avez  la  mauvaise  fortune" 

"  Listen.  I  have  nothing  with  me ;  but 
out  at  the  front  I  am  very  rich.  I  will 
give  you  a  hundred  dollars,  if  you  will  help 
me  to  get  away." 

"  I  can'  do  eet,"  smiled  Picard. 

"Why  not?" 

"Ole  man  he  fin'  dat  out.  He  is  wan 
devil,  dat  ole  man.  I  lak  firs'-rate  help 
you ;  I  lak'  dat  hundred  dollar.  On  Ojib- 
way  countree  dey  make  hees  nam'  Wagosh 
— dat  mean  fox.  He  know  everyt'ing." 
[43] 


Conjuror  s  House 

"  I'll  make  it  two  hundred — three  hundred 
— five  hundred." 

"Wat  you  wan'  me  do?'  hesitated 
Achille  Picard  at  the  last  figure. 

"  Get  me  a  rifle  and  some  cartridges." 

The  half-breed  rolled  a  cigarette,  lighted 
it,  and  inhaled  a  deep  breath. 

"  I  can'  do  eet,"  he  declared.  "  I  can'  do 
eet  for  t'ousand  dollar — ten  t'ousand.  I 
don't  t'ink  you  fin'  anywan  on  dis  settle 
ment  w'at  can  dare  do  eet.  He  is  wan 
devil.  He's  count  all  de  carabine  on  dis 
pos',  an'  w'en  he  is  mees  wan,  he  fin'  out 
purty  queek  who  is  tak'  heem." 

"  Steal  one  from  someone  else,"  suggested 
Trent. 

"  He  fin'  out  jess  sam',"  objected  the  half- 
breed,  obstinately.  "  You  don'  know  heem. 
He  mak'  you  geev  yourself  away,  when  he 
lak'  do  dat."  The  smile  had  left  the  man's 


Chapter  Four 

face.     This  was  evidently  too  serious  a  mat 
ter  to  be  taken  lightly. 

"  Well,  come  with  me,  then,"  urged  Ned 
Trent,  with  some  impatience.  "  A  thou 
sand  dollars  I'll  give  you.  With  that  you 
can  be  rich  somewhere  else." 

But  the  man  was  becoming  more  and 
more  uneasy,  glancing  furtively  from  left  to 
right  and  back  again,  in  an  evident  panic 
lest  the  conversation  be  overheard,  although 
the  nearest  dwelling-house  was  a  score  of 
yards  distant. 

"Hush,"  he  whispered.  "You  mustn't 
talk  lak'  dat.  Dose  ole  man  fin'  you  out. 
You  can'  hide  away  from  heem.  Ole  tarn 
long  ago,  Pierre  Cadotte  is  stole  feefteen 
skin  of  de  otter — de  sea-otter — and  he  is 
sol'  dem  on  Winnipeg.  He  is  get  'bout 
t'ousand  beaver — five  hunder'  dollar.  Den 
he  is  mak'  dose  longue  voyage  wes' — ver' 
[45] 


Conjurors  House 

far  wes'— on  dit  Peace  Reever.  He  is  mak' 
heem  dose  cabane,  w'ere  he  is  leev  long  tarn 
wid  wan  man  of  Mackenzie.  He  is  call  it 
hees  nam'  Dick  Henderson.  I  is  meet 
Dick  Henderson  on  Winnipeg  las'  year, 
w'en  I  mak1  paddle  on  dem  Factor  Brigade, 
an'  dose  High  Commissionaire.  He  is  tol' 
me  wan  night  pret'  late  he  wake  up  all  de 
queeck  he  can  w'en  he  is  hear  wan  noise  in 
dose  cabane,  an'  he  is  see  wan  Injun,  lak' 
phantome  'gainst  de  moon  to  de  door. 
Dick  Henderson  he  is  'sleep,  he  don'  know 
w'at  he  mus'  do.  Does  Injun  is  step  ver' 
sof  an'  go  on  bunk  of  Pierre  Cadotte. 
Pierre  Cadotte  is  mak'  de  beeg  cry.  Dick 
Henderson  say  he  no  see  dose  Injun  no 
more,  an'  he  fin'  de  door  shut.  Ba  Pierre 
Cadotte,  she's  go  dead.  He  is  mak'  wan 
beeg  hole  in  hees  ches'." 
"Some  enemy,  some  robber  frightened 
[46] 


Chapter  Four 

away  because  the  Henderson  man  woke  up, 
probably,"  suggested  Ned  Trent. 

The  half-breed  laid  his  hand  impressively 
on  the  other's  arm  and  leaned  forward  until 
his  bright  black  eyes  were  within  a  foot  of 
the  other's  face. 

"Wen  dose  Injun  is  stan'  heem  in  de 
moonlight,  Dick  Henderson  is  see  hees  face. 
Dick  Henderson  is  know  all  dose  Injun. 
He  is  tole  me  dat  Injun  is  not  Peace 
Reever  Injun.  Dick  Henderson  is  say 
dose  Injun  is  Ojibway  Injun  —  Ojibway 
Injun  two  t'ousand  mile  wes' — on  Peace 
Reever !  Dat's  curi's  !  " 

"  I  was  tell  you  nodder  story — "  went  on 
Achille,  after  a  moment. 

"  Never  mind,"  interrupted  the  Trader.  "I 
believe  you." 

"Maybee,"  said  Achille  cheerfully,  "you 

stan'  some  show— not  moche — eef  he  sen' 

[47] 


Conjuror's  House 

you  out  pret'  queeck.  Does  small  perdrix 
is  yonge,  an'  dose  duck.  Maybee  you  is 
catch  dem,  maybee  you  is  keel  dem  wit* 
bow  an'  arrow.  Dat's  not  beeg  chance. 
You  mus'  geev  dose  coureurs  de  bois  de 
sleep  w'en  you  arrive.  Voila,  I  geev  you 
my  knife ! " 

He  glanced  rapidly  to  right  and  left,  then 
slipped  a  small  object  into  the  stranger's 
hand. 

"  Bd,  I  t'ink  does  ole  man  is  know  dat.  I 
t'ink  he  kip  you  here  till  tarn  w'en  dose 
perdrix  and  duck  is  all  grow  up  beeg'  nuff 
so  he  can  fly." 

"I'm  not  watched,"  said  the  young  man  in 
eager  tones  ;  "I'll  slip  away  to-night." 

"Dat  no  good,"  objected  Picard.    "Wat 

you  do  ?     S'pose  you  do  dat,  dose  coureurs 

keel  you    toute  suite.      Dey  is   have  good 

excuse,  an'  you  is  have  nothing  to  mak'  de 

[48] 


Chapter  Four 

fight.  You  sleep  away,  and  dose  ole  man 
is  sen'  out  plaintee  Injun.  Dey  is  fine  you 
sure.  Bd,  eef  he  sen  you  out,  den  he  sen' 
onlee  two  Injun.  Maybee  you  fight  dem ; 
I  don'  know.  Non,  mon  ami,  eef  you  is 
wan'  get  away  w'en  dose  ole  man  he  don' 
know  eet,  you  mus'  have  dose  carabine. 
Den  you  is  have  wan  leetle  chance.  Bd9 
eef  you  is  not  have  heem  dose  carabine,  you 
mus'  need  dose  leetle  grub  he  geev  you,  and 
not  plaintee  Injun  follow  you,  onlee  two." 

"  And  I  cannot  get  the  rifle." 

"  An'  dose  ole  man  is  don'  sen'  you  out  till 
eet  is  too  late  for  mak'  de  grub  on  de  fores'. 
Dat's  w'at  I  t'ink.  Dat  ees  not  fonny  for 
you." 

Ned  Trent's  eyes  were  almost  black  with 
thought.  Suddenly  he  threw  his  head  up. 

"I'll  make  him  send  me  out  now,"  he 
asserted  confidently. 

[49] 


Conjurors  House 

"  How  you  mak'  eet  him  ?  " 

"  I'll  talk  turkey  to  him  till  he's  so  mad 
he  can't  see  straight.  Then  maybe  he'll 
send  me  out  right  away." 

"How  you  mak'  eet  him  so  mad?  in 
quired  Picard,  with  mild  curiosity. 

"  Never  you  mind — I'll  do  it." 

"  Bd  oui"  ruminated  Picard,  "  He  is  get 
mad  pret'  queeck.  I  t'ink  p'raps  dat  plan 
he  go  all  right.  You  was  get  heem  mad 
plaintee  easy.  Den  maybee  he  is  sen'  you 
out  toute  suite — maybee  he  is  shoot  you." 

"  I'll  take  the  chances — my  friend." 

"Bd  oui"  shrugged  Achille  Picard,  "eet 
is  wan  chance." 

He  commenced  to  roll  another  cigarette. 


[50] 


Chapter  Five 


Having  sat  buried  in  thought  for  a  full  five 
minutes  after  the  traders  of  the  winter 
posts  had  left  him,  Galen  Albret  thrust 
back  his  chair  and  walked  into  a  room, 
long,  low,  and  heavily  raftered,  strikingly 
unlike  the  Council  Room.  Its  floor  was 
overlaid  with  dark  rugs ;  a  piano  of  ancient 
model  filled  one  corner;  pictures  and  books 
broke  the  wall ;  the  lamps  and  the  windows 
were  shaded  ;  a  woman's  work-basket  and  a 
tea-set  occupied  a  large  table.  Only  a  cer 
tain  barbaric  profusion  of  furs,  the  huge 
fireplace,  and  the  rough  rafters  of  the 
ceiling  differentiated  the  place  from  the 
[51] 


Conjuror's  House 

drawing-room  of  a  well-to-do  family  any 
where. 

Galen  Albret  sank  heavily  into  a  chair  and 
struck  a  bell.  A  tall,  slightly  stooped  Eng 
lish  servant,  with  correct  side  whiskers  and 
incompetent,  watery  blue  eyes,  answered. 
To  him  said  the  Factor: 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Albret." 

A  moment  later  Virginia  entered  the  room. 

"Let  us  have  some  tea,  O-mi-mi,"  re 
quested  her  father. 

The  girl  moved  gently  about,  preparing 
and  lighting  the  lamp,  measuring  the  tea, 
her  fair  head  bowed  gracefully  over  her 
task,  her  dark  eyes  pensive  and  but  half 
following  what  she  did.  Finally  with  a 
certain  air  of  decision  she  seated  herself  on 
the  arm  of  a  chair. 

"  Father,"  said  she. 

"Yes." 

[52] 


Chapter  Five 

"  A  stranger  came  to-day  with  Louis  Pla- 
cide  of  Kettle  Portage." 

"Well?" 

"  He  was  treated  strangely  by  our  people, 
and  he  treated  them  strangely  in  return. 
Why  is  that? " 

"  Who  can  tell?  " 

"What  is  his  station?  Is  he  a  common 
trader?  He  does  not  look  it." 

"  He  is  a  man  of  intelligence  and  daring." 

"  Then  why  is  he  not  our  guest?  " 

Galen  Albret  did  not  answer.  After  a 
moment's  pause  he  asked  again  for  his  tea. 
The  girl  turned  away  impatiently.  Here 
was  a  puzzle,  neither  the  voyageurs,  nor 
Wishkobun  her  nurse,  nor  her  father  would 
explain  to  her.  The  first  had  grinned  stu 
pidly  ;  the  second  had  drawn  her  shawl 
across  her  face,  the  third  asked  for  tea ! 

She  handed  her  father  the  cup,  hesitated, 
[53] 


Conjurors  House 

then  ventured  to  inquire  whether  she  was 
forbidden  to  greet  the  stranger  should  the 
occasion  arise. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,"  replied  her  father. 

She  sipped  her  tea  thoughtfully,  her  im 
agination  stirring.  Again  her  recollection 
lingered  over  the  clear  bronze  lines  of  the 
stranger's  face.  Something  vaguely  familiar 
seemed  to  touch  her  consciousness  with 
ghostly  fingers.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
tried  to  clutch  them.  At  once  they  were 
withdrawn.  And  then  again,  when  her  at 
tention  wandered,  they  stole  back,  plucking 
appealingly  at  the  hem  of  her  recollections. 

The  room  was  heavy-curtained,  deep  em 
brasured,  for  the  house,  beneath  its  clap 
boards,  was  of  logs.  Although  out  of  doors 
the  clear  spring  sunshine  still  flooded  the 
valley  of  the  Moose  ;  within,  the  shadows 
had  begun  with  velvet  fingers  to  extinguish 
[54] 


Chapter  Five 

the   brighter   lights.      Virginia  threw   her 
self  back  on  a  chair  in  the  corner. 

"  Virginia,"  said  Galen  Albret,  suddenly. 

"Yes,  father." 

"  You  are  no  longer  a  child,  but  a  woman. 
Would  you  like  to  go  to  Quebec  ? " 

She  did  not  answer  him  at  once,  but  pon 
dered  beneath  close-knit  brows. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go,  father  ? "  she 
asked  at  length. 

"  You  are  eighteen.  It  is  time  you  saw 
the  world,  time  you  learned  the  ways  of 
other  people.  But  the  journey  is  hard.  I 
may  not  see  you  again  for  some  years. 
You  go  among  strangers." 

He  fell  silent  again.  Motionless  he  had 
been,  except  for  the  mumbling  of  his  lips 
beneath  his  beard. 

"  It  shall  be  just  as  you  wish,"  he  added 
a  moment  later. 

[55] 


Conjurors  House 

At  once  a  conflict  arose  in  the  girl's  mind 
between  her  restless  dreams  and  her  affec 
tions.  But  beneath  all  the  glitter  of  the 
question  there  was  really  nothing  to  take 
her  out.  Here  was  her  father,  here  were 
the  things  she  loved  ;  yonder  was  novelty — 
and  loneliness. 

Her  existence  at  Conjuror's  House  was 
perhaps  a  little  complex,  but  it  was  familiar. 
She  knew  the  people,  and  she  took  a  daily 
and  unwearying  delight  in  the  kindness 
and  simplicity  of  their  bearing  toward  her 
self.  Each  detail  of  life  came  to  her  in 
the  round  of  habit,  wearing  the  garment  of 
accustomed  use.  But  of  the  world  she 
knew  nothing  except  what  she  had  been 
able  to  body  forth  from  her  reading,  and  that 
had  merely  given  her  imagination  something 
tangible  with  which  to  feed  her  self-dis 
trust. 

[56] 


Chapter  Five 

"  Must  I  decide  at  once  ?  "  she  asked. 

"If  you  go  this  year,  it  must  be  with  the 
Abitibi  brigade.  You  have  until  then." 

"  Thank  you,  father,"  said  the  girl, 
sweetly. 

The  shadows  stole  their  surroundings  one 
by  one,  until  only  the  bright  silver  of  the 
tea-service,  and  the  glitter  of  polished  wood, 
and  the  square  of  the  open  door  remained. 
Galen  Albret  became  an  inert  dark  mass. 
Virginia's  gray  was  lost  in  that  of  the  twi 
light. 

Time  passed.  The  clock  ticked  on. 
Faintly  sounds  penetrated  from  the  kitchen, 
and  still  more  faintly  from  out  of  doors. 
Then  the  rectangle  of  the  door-way  was 
darkened  by  a  man  peering  uncertainly. 
The  man  wore  his  hat,  from  which  slanted  a 
slender  heron's  plume  ;  his  shoulders  were 
square;  his  thighs  slim  and  graceful. 
[57] 


Conjurors  House 

Against  the  light,  one  caught  the  outline  of 
the  sash's  tassel  and  the  fringe  of  his  leg 
gings. 

"  Are  you  there,  Galen  Albret  ?  "  he  chal 
lenged. 

The  spell  of  twilight  mystery  broke.  It 
seemed  as  if  suddenly  the  air  had  become 
surcharged  with  the  vitality  of  opposition. 

"  What  then  ?  "  countered  the  Factor's 
heavy,  deliberate  tones. 

"  True,  I  see  you  now,"  rejoined  the 
visitor  carelessly,  as  he  flung  himself  across 
the  arm  of  a  chair  and  swung  one  foot 
"  I  do  not  doubt  you  are  convinced  by  this 
time  of  my  intention." 

"  My  recollection  does  not  tell  me  what 
messenger  I  sent  to  ask  this  interview." 

"  Correct,"  laughed  the  young  man  a  little 
hardly.     "  You  didn't  ask  it.     I  attended  to 
that  myself.     What  you  want  doesn't  con- 
[58] 


Chapter  Five 

cern  me  in  the  least.  What  do  you  sup 
pose  I  care  what,  or  what  not,  any  of  this 
crew  wants  ?  I'm  master  of  my  own  ideas, 
anyway,  thank  God.  If  you  don't  like 
what  I  do,  you  can  always  stop  me."  In 
the  tone  of  his  voice  was  a  distinct  chal 
lenge.  Galen  Albret,  it  seemed,  chose  to 
pass  it  by. 

"  True,"  he  replied  sombrely,  after  a  barely 
perceptible  pause  to  mark  his  tacit  displeas 
ure.  "  It  is  your  hour.  Say  on." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  the  date  at  which 
I  take  la  Longue  Traverse" 

"  You  persist  in  that  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Call  my  departure  whatever  you  want 
to — I  have  the  name  for  it.  When  do  I 
leave  ? " 

"  I  have  not  decided." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  ?  " 

"  Do  as  you  please." 

[59] 


Conjurors  House 

"  Ah,  thanks  for  this  generosity,"  cried  the 
young  man,  in  a  tone  of  declamatory  sar 
casm  so  artificial  as  fairly  to  scent  the  elo 
cutionary.  "  To  do  as  I  please — here — 
now  there's  a  blessed  privilege !  I  may 
walk  around  where  I  want  to,  talk  to  such 
as  have  a  good  word  for  me,  punish  those 
who  have  not  1  But  do  I  err  in  concluding 
that  the  state  of  your  game  law  is  such  that 
it  would  be  useless  to  reclaim  my  rifle  from 
the  engaging  Placide  ?  " 

"You  have  a  fine  instinct,"  approved  the 
Factor. 

"It  is  one  of  my  valued  possessions,"  re 
joined  the  young  man,  insolently.  He 
struck  a  match,  and  by  its  light  selected  a 
cigarette. 

"  I  do  not  myself  use  tobacco  in  this 
room,"  suggested  the  older  speaker. 

"  I  am  curious  to  learn  the  limits  of  your 
[60] 


Chapter  Five 

forbearance,"  replied  the  younger,  proceed 
ing  to  smoke. 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  regarded  his 
opponent  with  an  open  challenge,  daring 
him  to  become  angry.  The  match  went 
out. 

Virginia,  who  had  listened  in  growing  an 
ger  and  astonishment,  unable  longer  to  re 
frain  from  defending  the  dignity  of  her  usu 
ally  autocratic  father,  although  he  seemed 
little  disposed  to  defend  himself,  now  inter 
vened  from  her  dark  corner  on  the  divan. 

"Is  the  journey  then  so  long,  sir,"  she 
asked  composedly,  "that  it  at  once  inspires 
such  anticipations — and  such  bitterness  ? " 

In  an  instant  the  man  was  on  his  feet,  hat 
in  hand,  and  the  cigarette  had  described  a 
fiery  curve  into  the  empty  hearth. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sincerely,"  he  cried, 
"  I  did  not  know  you  were  here !  " 
[61] 


Conjurors  House 

"  You  might  better  apologize  to  my  father," 
replied  Virginia. 

The  young  man  stepped  forward  and, 
without  asking  permission,  lighted  one  of 
the  tall  lamps. 

"The  lady  of  the  guns!"  he  marvelled 
softly  to  himself. 

He  moved  across  the  room,  looking  down 
on  her  inscrutably,  while  she  looked  up  at 
him  in  composed  expectation  of  an  apology 
— and  Galen  Albret  sat  motionless,  in  the 
shadow  of  his  great  arm-chair.  But  after 
a  moment  her  calm  attention  broke  down. 
Something  there  was  about  this  man  that 
stirred  her  emotions — whether  of  curiosity, 
pity,  indignation,  or  a  slight  defensive  fear 
she  was  not  introspective  enough  to  care 
to  inquire.  And  yet  the  sensation  was  not 
altogether  unpleasant,  and,  as  at  the  guns 
that  afternoon,  a  certain  portion  of  her 
[62] 


Chapter  Five 

consciousness  remained  in  sympathy  witn 
whatever  it  was  of  mysterious  attraction 
he  represented  to  her.  In  him  she  felt  the 
dominant,  as  a  wild  creature  of  the  woods 
instinctively  senses  the  master  and  drops 
its  eyes.  Resentment  did  not  leave  her, 
but  over  it  spread  a  film  of  confusion  that 
robbed  it  of  its  potency.  In  him,  in  his 
mood,  in  his  words,  in  his  manner,  was  some 
thing  that  called  out  in  direct  appeal  the 
more  primitive  instincts  hitherto  dormant 
beneath  her  sense  of  maidenhood,  so  that 
even  at  this  vexed  moment  of  conscious  op 
position,  her  heart  was  ranging  itself  on  his 
side.  Overpoweringly  the  feeling  swept  her 
that  she  was  not  acting  in  accordance  with 
her  sense  of  fitness.  She  knew  she  should 
strike,  but  was  unable  to  give  due  force  to 
the  blow.  In  the  confusion  of  such  a  discov 
ery,  her  eyelids  fluttered  and  fell.  And  he 
[63] 


Conjuror's  House 

saw,  and,  understanding  his  power,  dropped 
swiftly  beside  her  on  the  broad  divan. 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  mademoiselle,"  he 
begun,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  depth  of  rich 
music  singularly  caressing.  "  To  you  I 
may  seem  to  have  small  excuses,  but  when 
a  man  is  vouchsafed  a  glimpse  of  heaven 
only  to  be  cast  out  the  next  instant  into 
hell,  he  is  not  always  particular  in  the  choice 
of  words." 

All  the  time  his  eyes  sought  hers,  which 
avoided  the  challenge,  and  the  strong  mas 
culine  charm  of  magnetism  which  he  pos 
sessed  in  such  vital  abundance  overwhelmed 
her  unaccustomed  consciousness.  Galen 
Albret  shifted  uneasily,  and  shot  a  glance 
in  their  direction.  The  stranger,  perceiving 
this,  lowered  his  voice  in  register  and  tone, 
and  went  on  with  almost  exaggerated  ear 
nestness. 

[64] 


Chapter  Five 

"Surely  you  can  forgive  me,  a  desperate 
man,  almost  anything? " 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Virginia,  with 
a  palpable  effort. 

Ned  Trent  leaned  forward  until  his  eager 
face  was  almost  at  her  shoulder. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  urged ;  "  I  cannot  ask 
you  to  try.  But  suppose,  mademoiselle, 
you  were  in  my  case.  Suppose  your  eyes — 
like  mine — have  rested  on  nothing  but  a 
howling  wilderness  for  dear  heaven  knows 
how  long ;  you  come  at  last  in  sight  of  real 
houses,  real  grass,  real  door-yard  gardens  just 
ready  to  blossom  in  the  spring,  real  food,  real 
beds,  real  books,  real  men  with  whom  to 
exchange  the  sensible  word,  and  something 
more,  mademoiselle — a  woman  such  as  one 
dreams  of  in  the  long  forest  nights  under 
the  stars.  And  you  know  that  while  others, 
the  lucky  ones,  may  stay  to  enjoy  it  all, 
[65] 


Conjurors  House 

you,  the  unfortunate,  are  condemned  to 
leave  it  at  any  moment  for  la  Longue  Tra 
verse.  Would  not  you,  too,  be  bitter,  made 
moiselle  ?  Would  not  you  too  mock  and 
sneer  ?  Think,  mademoiselle,  I  have  not 
even  the  little  satisfaction  of  rousing  men's 
anger.  I  can  insult  them  as  I  will,  but  they 
turn  aside  in  pity,  saying  one  to  another : 
'  Let  us  pleasure  him  in  this,  poor  fellow, 
for  he  is  about  to  take  la  Longue  Traverse. ' 
That  is  why  your  father  accepts  calmly 
from  me  what  he  would  not  from  another." 
Virginia  sat  bolt  upright  on  the  divan,  her 
hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  her  wonderful 
black  eyes  looking  straight  out  before  her, 
trying  to  avoid  her  companion's  insistent 
gaze.  His  attention  was  fixed  on  her  mo 
bile  and  changing  countenance,  but  he 
marked  with  evident  satisfaction  Galen  Al- 
bret's  growing  uneasiness.  This  was  evi- 
[66] 


Chapter  Five 

denced  only  by  a  shifting  of  the  feet,  a  tap 
ping  of  the  fingers,  a  turning  of  the  shaggy 
head — in  such  a  man  slight  tokens  are  sig 
nificant.  The  silence  deepened  with  the 
shadows  drawing  about  the  single  lamp, 
while  Virginia  attempted  to  maintain  a 
breathing  advantage  above  the  flood  of 
strange  emotions  which  the  personality  of 
this  man  had  swept  down  upon  her. 

"  It  does  not  seem — "  objected  the  girl  in 
bewilderment,  "I  do  not  know — men  are 
often  out  in  this  country  for  years  at  a  time. 
Long  journeys  are  not  unknown  among  us. 
We  are  used  to  undertaking  them." 

"  But  not  la  Longue  Traverse"  insisted 
the  young  man,  sombrely. 

"La  Longue  Traverse,"  she  repeated  in 
sweet  perplexity. 

"  Sometimes  called  the  Journey  of  Death," 
he  explained. 

[67] 


Conjurors  House 

She  turned  to  look  him  in  the  eyes,  a 
vague  expression  of  puzzled  fear  on  her 
face. 

"She  has  never  heard  of  it,"  said  Ned 
Trent  to  himself,  and  aloud :  "  Men  who 
undertake  it  leave  comfort  behind.  They 
embrace  hunger  and  weariness,  cold  and 
disease.  At  the  last  they  embrace  death, 
and  are  glad  of  his  coming." 

Something  in  his  tone  compelled  belief ; 
something  in  his  face  told  her  that  he  was  a 
man  by  whom  the  inevitable  hardships  of 
winter  and  summer  travel,  fearful  as  they 
are,  would  be  lightly  endured.  She  shud 
dered. 

"This  dreadful  thing  is  necessary?"  she 
asked. 

"  Alas,  yes." 

"  I  do  not  understand " 

"In  the  North  few  of  us  understand," 
[68] 


Chapter  Five 

agreed  the  young  man  with  a  hint  of  bit 
terness  seeping  through  his  voice.  "  The 
mighty  order,  and  so  we  obey.  But  that  is 
beside  the  point.  I  have  not  told  you 
these  things  to  harrow  you  ;  I  have  tried  to 
excuse  myself  for  my  actions.  Does  it 
touch  you  a  little  ?  Am  I  forgiven  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  how  such  things  can 
be,"  she  objected  in  some  confusion,  "  why 
such  journeys  must  exist.  My  mind  can 
not  comprehend  your  explanations." 

The  stranger  leaned  forward  abruptly,  his 
eyes  blazing  with  the  magnetic  personality 
of  the  man. 

"  But  your  heart  ?  "  he  breathed. 

It  was  the  moment.  "  My  heart — "  she 
repeated,  as  though  bewildered  by  the 
intensity  of  his  eyes,  "my  heart — ah — 
yes!" 

Immediately   the   blood   rushed  over   her 
[69] 


Conjurors  House 

face  and  throat  in  a  torrent.  She  snatched 
her  eyes  away,  and  cowered  back  in  the 
corner,  going  red  and  white  by  turns,  now 
angry,  now  frightened,  now  bewildered, 
until  his  gaze,  half  masterful,  half  pleading, 
again  conquered  hers.  Galen  Albret  had 
ceased  tapping  his  chair.  In  the  dim  light 
he  sat,  staring  straight  before  him,  massive, 
inert,  grim. 

"  I  believe  you — "  she  murmured  hurriedly 
at  last.  "  I  pity  you  ! " 

She  rose.  Quick  as  light  he  barred  her 
passage. 

"Don't!  don't!"  she  pleaded.  "I  must 
go — you  have  shaken  me — I — I  do  not 
understand  myself " 

"  I  must  see  you  again,"  he  whispered 
eagerly.  "  To-night — by  the  guns." 

"No,  no!" 

"To-night,"  he  insisted. 
[70] 


Chapter  Five 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  this  time  naked 
of  defence,  so  that  the  man  saw  down 
through  their  depths  into  her  very  soul. 

''Oh,"  she  begged,  quivering,  "let  me 
pass.  Don't  you  see — I'm  going  to  cry !  " 


[71] 


Chapter  Six 


For  a  moment  Ned  Trent  stared  through 
the  darkness  into  which  Virginia  had  disap 
peared.  Then  he  turned  a  troubled  face  to 
the  task  he  had  set  himself,  for  the  unex 
pectedly  pathetic  results  of  his  fantastic  at 
tempt  had  shaken  him.  Twice  he  half 
turned  as  though  to  follow  her.  Then 
shaking  his  shoulders  he  bent  his  attention 
to  the  old  man  in  the  shadow  of  the  chair. 

He  was  given  no  opportunity  for  further 
speech,  however,  for  at  the  sound  of  the 
closing  door  Galen  Albret's  impassivity  had 
fallen  from  him.  He  sprang  to  his  feet. 
The  whole  aspect  of  the  man  suddenly  be- 
[W] 


Chapter  Six 

came  electric,  terrible.  His  eyes  blazed ; 
his  heavy  brows  drew  spasmodically  tow 
ard  each  other ;  his  jaws  worked,  twist 
ing  his  beard  into  strange  contortions;  his 
massive  frame  straightened  formidably ; 
and  his  voice  rumbled  from  the  arch  of 
his  deep  chest  in  a  torrent  of  passionate 
sound. 

'  *  By  God,  young  man  !  "  he  thundered, 
"  you  go  too  far  !  Take  heed  !  I  will  not 
stand  this  !  Do  not  you  presume  to  make 
love  to  my  daughter  before  my  eyes  !  " 

And  Ned  Trent,  just  within  the  dusky 
circle  of  lamplight,  where  the  bold,  sneering 
lines  of  his  face  stood  out  in  relief  against 
the  twilight  of  the  room,  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed.  It  was  a  clear  laugh, 
but  low,  and  in  it  were  all  the  devils  of 
triumph,  and  of  insolence.  Where  the 
studied  insult  of  words  had  failed,  this 
[73] 


Conjurors  House 

single  cachinnation  succeeded.  The  Trader 
saw  his  opponent's  eyes  narrow.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  thought  the  Factor  was  about  to 
spring  on  him. 

Then,  with  an  effort  that  blackened  his 
face  with  blood,  Galen  Albret  controlled 
himself,  and  fell  to  striking  the  call-bell 
violently  and  repeatedly  with  the  palm  of 
his  hand.  After  a  moment  Matthews,  the 
English  servant,  came  running  in.  To  him 
the  Factor  was  at  first  physically  unable  to 
utter  a  syllable.  Then  finally  he  managed 
to  ejaculate  the  name  of  his  bowsman  with 
such  violence  of  gesture  that  the  frightened 
servant  comprehended  by  sheer  force  of 
terror  and  ran  out  again  in  search  of 
Me-en-gan. 

This  supreme  effort  seemed  to  clear  the 
way  for   speech.     Galen   Albret   began  to 
address  his  opponent  hoarsely  in  quick,  dis- 
[74] 


Chapter  Six 

jointed  sentences,  a  gasp  for  breath  between 
each. 

"  You  revived  an  old  legend — la  Longue 
Traverse — the  myth.  It  shall  be  real — to — 
you — I  will  make  it  so.  By  God,  you  shall 
not  defy  me " 

Ned  Trent  smiled.  "  You  do  not  deceive 
me,"  he  rejoined,  coolly. 

"  Silence !  "  cried  the  Factor.  "  Silence! — 
You  shall  speak  no  more ! — You  have  said 
enough " 

Me-en-gan  glided  into  the  room.  Galen 
Albret  at  once  addressed  him  in  the  Ojib- 
way  language,  gaining  control  of  himself 
as  he  went  on. 

"Listen  to  me  well,"  he  commanded. 
"You  shall  make  a  count  of  all  rifles  in 
this  place — at  once.  Let  no  one  furnish 
this  man  with  food  or  arms.  You  know 
the  story  of  la  Longue  Traverse.  This 
[75] 


Conjuror's  House 

man  shall  take  it.  So  inform  my  people. 
I,  the  Factor,  decree  it  so.  Prepare  all 
things  at  once — understand,  at  once  !  " 

Ned  Trent  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but 
sauntered  from  the  room  whistling  gayly  a 
boatman's  song.  His  point  was  gained. 

Outside,  the  long  Northern  twilight  with 
its  beautiful  shadows  of  crimson  was  de 
scending  from  the  upper  regions  of  the  east. 
A  light  wind  breathed  up-river  from  the 
bay.  The  Free  Trader  drew  his  lungs  full 
of  the  evening  air. 

"Just  the  same,  I  think  she  will  come," 
said  he  to  himself.  "  La  Longue  Traverse, 
even  at  once,  is  a  pretty  slim  chance.  But 
this  second  string  to  my  bow  is  better.  I 
believe  I'll  get  the  rifle— if  she  comes  !" 


[76] 


Chapter  Seven 


Virginia  ran  quickly  up  the  narrow  stairs 
to  her  own  room,  where  she  threw  herself 
on  the  bed  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
pillows. 

As  she  had  said,  she  was  very  much  shaken. 
And,  too,  she  was  afraid. 

She  could  not  understand.  Heretofore  she 
had  moved  among  the  men  around  her,  pure, 
lofty,  serene.  Now  at  one  blow  all  this 
crumbled.  The  stranger  had  outraged  her 
finer  feelings.  He  had  insulted  her  father  in 
her  very  presence ; — for  this  she  was  angry. 
He  had  insulted  herself ; — for  this  she  was 
afraid.  He  had  demanded  that  she  meet  him 
[77] 


Conjurors  House 

again ;  but  this — at  least  in  the  manner  he 
had  suggested — should  not  happen.  And 
yet  she  confessed  to  herself  a  delicious  won 
der  as  to  what  he  would  do  next,  and  a 
vague  desire  to  see  him  again  in  order  to 
find  out.  That  she  could  not  successfully 
combat  this  feeling  made  her  angry  at  her 
self.  And  so  in  mingled  fear,  pride,  anger, 
and  longing  she  remained  until  Wishkobun, 
the  Indian  woman,  glided  in  to  dress  her  for 
the  dinner  whose  formality  she  and  her  father 
consistently  maintained.  She  fell  to  talking 
the  soft  Ojibway  dialect,  and  in  the  con 
versation  forgot  some  of  her  emotion  and 
regained  some  of  her  calm. 

Her  surface  thoughts,  at  least,  were  com 
pelled  for  the  moment  to  occupy  themselves 
with  other  things.  The  Indian  woman  had 
to  tell  her  of  the  silver  fox  brought  in  by 
Mu-hi-ken,  an  Indian  of  her  own  tribe  ;  of 
[78] 


Chapter  Seven 

the  retort  Achille  Picard  had  made  when 
MacLane  had  taunted  him  ;  of  the  forest 
fire  that  had  declared  itself  far  to  the  east, 
and  of  the  theories  to  account  for  it  where 
no  campers  had  been.  Yet  underneath 
the  rambling  chatter  Virginia  was  aware 
of  something  new  in  her  consciousness, 
something  delicious  but  as  yet  vague.  In 
the  gayest  moment  of  her  half-jesting,  half- 
affectionate  gossip  with  the  Indian  woman, 
she  felt  its  uplift  catching  her  breath  from 
beneath,  so  that  for  the  tiniest  instant  she 
would  pause  as  though  in  readiness  for  some 
message  which  nevertheless  delayed.  A 
fresh  delight  in  the  present  moment  held  her, 
a  fresh  anticipation  of  the  immediate  future, 
though  both  delight  and  anticipation  were 
based  on  something  without  her  knowledge. 
That  would  come  later. 
The  sound  of  rapid  footsteps  echoed  across 
[79] 


Conjurors  House 

the  lower  hall,  a  whistle  ran  into  an  air,  sung 
gayly,  with  spirit: 

te  J'ai  perdu  ma  maitresse, 
Sans  I avoir  merite, 
Pour  un  bouquet  de  roses 
Queje  lui  refusal. 
Li  ya  longtemps  queje  faime, 
Jamais  je  ne  foublierai  !  " 

She  fell  abruptly  silent,  and  spoke  no  more 
until  she  descended  to  the  council-room 
where  the  table  was  now  spread  for  dinner. 

Two  silver  candlesticks  lit  the  place.  The 
men  were  waiting  for  her  when  she  entered, 
and  at  once  took  their  seats  in  the  worn, 
rude  chairs.  White  linen  and  glittering 
silver  adorned  the  service.  Galen  Albret 
occupied  one  end  of  the  table,  Virginia  the 
other.  On  either  side  were  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Cockburn  ;  McDonald,  the  Chief  Trader ; 
Richardson,  the  clerk,  and  Crane,  the  mis- 
[80] 


Chapter  Seven 

sionary  of  the  Church  of  England.  Matthews 
served  with  rigid  precision  in  the  order  of 
importance,  first  the  Factor,  then  Virginia, 
then  the  doctor,  his  wife,  McDonald,  the 
clerk,  and  Crane  in  due  order.  On  entering 
a  room  the  same  precedence  would  have 
held  good.  Thus  these  people,  six  hundred 
miles  as  the  crow  flies  from  the  nearest 
settlement,  maintained  their  shadowy  hold 
on  civilization. 

The  glass  was  fine,  the  silver  massive,  the 
linen  dainty,  Matthews  waited  faultlessly  : 
but  overhead  hung  the  rough  timbers  of  the 
wilderness  post,  across  the  river  faintly 
could  be  heard  the  howling  of  wolves.  The 
fare  was  rice,  curry,  salt  pork,  potatoes,  and 
beans  ;  for  at  this  season  the  game  was 
poor,  and  the  fish  hardly  yet  running  with 
regularity. 

Throughout  the  meal  Virginia  sat  in   a 
[81] 


Conjurors  House 

singular  abstraction.  No  conscious  thoughts 
took  shape  in  her  mind,  but  nevertheless 
she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  occupied  in  con 
sidering  weighty  matters.  When  directly 
addressed,  she  answered  sweetly.  Much  of 
the  time  she  studied  her  father's  face.  She 
found  it  old.  Those  lines  were  already  evi 
dent  which,  when  first  noted,  bring  a  stab 
of  surprised  pain  to  the  breast  of  a  child — 
the  droop  of  the  mouth,  the  wrinkling  of 
the  temples,  the  patient  weariness  of  the 
eyes.  Virginia's  own  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
The  subjective  passive  state  into  which  a 
newly  born  but  not  yet  recognized  love  had 
cast  her,  inclined  her  to  gentleness.  She 
accepted  facts  as  they  came  to  her.  For 
the  moment  she  forgot  the  mere  happen 
ings  of  the  day,  and  lived  only  in  the  result 
ing  mood  of  them  all.  The  new-comer  in 
spired  her  no  longer  with  anger  nor  sor- 


Chapter  Seven 

row,  attraction  nor  fear.  Her  active  emo 
tions  in  abeyance,  she  floated  dreamily  on 
the  clouds  of  a  new  estate. 

This  very  aloofness  of  spirit  disinclined  her 
for  the  company  of  the  others  after  the  meal 
was  finished.  The  Factor  closeted  himself 
with  Richardson.  The  doctor,  lighting  a 
cheroot,  took  his  way  across  to  his  infirmary. 
McDonald,  Crane,  and  Mrs.  Cockburn 
entered  the  drawing-room  and  seated  them 
selves  near  the  piano.  Virginia  hesitated, 
then  threw  a  shawl  over  her  head  and  stepped 
out  on  the  broad  veranda. 

At  once  the  vast,  splendid  beauty  of 
the  Northern  night  broke  over  her  soul. 
Straight  before  her  gleamed  and  flashed  and 
ebbed  and  palpitated  the  aurora.  One  mo 
ment  its  long  arms  shot  beyond  the  zenith  ; 
the  next  it  had  broken  and  rippled  back  like 
a  brook  of  light  to  its  arch  over  the  Great 
[83] 


Conjuror's  House 

Bear.  Never  for  an  instant  was  it  still.  Its 
restlessness  stole  away  the  quiet  of  the 
evening ;  but  left  it  magnificent. 

In  comparison  with  this  coruscating  dome 
of  the  infinite  the  earth  had  shrunken  to 
a  narrow  black  band  of  velvet,  in  which 
was  nothing  distinguishable  until  suddenly 
the  sky-line  broke  in  calm  silhouettes  of 
spruce  and  firs.  And  always  the  mighty 
River  of  the  Moose,  gleaming,  jewelled, 
barbaric  in  its  reflections,  slipped  by  to 
the  sea. 

So  rapid  and  bewildering  was  the  motion 
of  these  two  great  powers — the  river  and 
the  sky — that  the  imagination  could  not 
believe  in  silence.  It  was  as  though  the 
earth  were  full  of  shoutings  and  of  tumults. 
And  yet  in  reality  the  night  was  as  still 
as  a  tropical  evening.  The  wolves  and  the 
sledge -dogs  answered  each  other  undis- 
[84] 


Chapter  Seven 

turbed;  the  beautiful  songs  of  the  white- 
throats  stole  from  the  forest  as  divinely  in 
stinct  as  ever  with  the  spirit  of  peace. 

Virginia  leaned  against  the  railing  and 
looked  upon  it  all.  Her  heart  was  big  with 
emotions,  many  of  which  she  could  not 
name ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Some 
thing  had  changed  in  her  since  yesterday, 
but  she  did  not  know  what  it  was.  The 
faint  wise  stars,  the  pale  moon  just  sinking, 
the  gentle  south  breeze  could  have  told  her, 
for  they  are  old,  old  in  the  world's  affairs. 
Occasionally  a  flash  more  than  ordinarily 
brilliant  would  glint  one  of  the  bronze  guns 
beneath  the  flag-staff.  Then  Virginia's  heart 
would  glint  too.  She  imagined  the  reflec 
tion  startled  her. 

She  stretched  her  arms  out  to  the  night, 
embracing  its  glories,  sighing  in  sympathy 
with  its  meaning,  which  she  did  not  know. 
[85] 


Conjurors  House 

She  felt  the  desire  of  restlessness  ;  yet  she 
could  not  bear  to  go.  But  no  thought  of 
the  stranger  touched  her,  for  you  see  as  yet 
she  did  not  understand. 

Then,  quite  naturally,  she  heard  his  voice 
in  the  darkness  close  to  her  knee.  It 
seemed  inevitable  that  he  should  be  there ; 
part  of  the  restless,  glorious  night,  part  of 
her  mood.  She  gave  no  start  of  surprise, 
but  half  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  her  fair 
head  against  a  pillar  of  the  veranda.  He 
sang  in  a  sweet  undertone  an  old  chanson 
of  voyage. 

"  Par  derrier  chez  mon  pere, 
Vole,  mon  cceur,  vole  ! 
Par  derrier  chez  mon  pere 
Li-ya-t-un  pommier  doux." 

"Ah  lady,  lady  mine,"  broke  in  the  voice 
softly,  "the  night  too  is  sweet,  soft  as  thine 
eyes.     Will  you  not  greet  me  ?  " 
[86] 


"Ah  lady,  lady  mine,"   broke  in  the  voice  softly. 


Chapter  Seven 

The  girl  made  no  sign.  After  a  moment 
the  song  went  on. 

"  Troisjilles  d'un  prince, 
Vole,  mon  cceur,  vole  ! 
Troisjilles  d'un  prince 
Sont  endormies  dessous." 

"  Will  not  the  princess  leave  her  sisters  of 
dreams  ?  "  whispered  the  voice,  fantastically. 
"  Will  she  not  come  ?  " 

Virginia  shivered,  and  half-opened  her 
eyes,  but  did  not  stir.  It  seemed  that  the 
darkness  sighed,  then  became  musical  again. 

"  Laplusjeun  se  reveille) 
Vole,  mon  cceur,  vole  ! 
La  plusjeun  se  reveille 
— Ma  Soeur,  voila  le  jour  ! 

The  song  broke  this  time  without  a  word 
of  pleading.  The  girl  opened  her  eyes  wide 
and  stared  breathlessly  straight  before  her 
at  the  singer. 

[87] 


Conjurors  House 

"  — Non,  ce  nest  qu'une  etoile, 
Vole,  mon  cceur,  vole  ! 
Non,  ce  nest  qu'une  etoile 
Qu'eclaire  nos  amours  !  " 

The  last  word  rolled  out  through  its  pas 
sionate  throat  tones  and  died  into  silence. 

"  Come  ! "  repeated  the  man  again,  this 
time  almost  in  the  accents  of  command. 

She  turned  slowly  and  went  to  him,  her 
eyes  childlike  and  frightened,  her  lips  wide, 
her  face  pale.  When  she  stood  face  to  face 
with  him  she  swayed  and  almost  fell. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  she  fal 
tered,  with  a  little  sob. 

The  man  looked  at  her  keenly,  laughed, 
and  exclaimed  in  an  every-day,  matter-of- 
fact  voice : 

"  Why,  I  really  believe  my  song  frightened 
you.  It  is  only  a  boating  song.  Come,  let 
us  go  and  sit  on  the  gun-carriages  and  talk." 
[88] 


Chapter  Seven 

"  Oh  !  "  she  gasped,  a  trifle  hysterically. 
"  Don't  do  that  again !  Please  don't.  I  do 
not  understand  it !  You  must  not ! " 

He  laughed  again,  but  with  a  note  of  ten 
derness  in  his  voice,  and  took  her  hand  to 
lead  her  away,  humming  in  an  undertone 
the  last  couplet  of  his  song  : 

t( Non,  ce  nest  quune  etoile, 
Qu'eclaire  nos  amours  f  " 


[89] 


Chapter  Eight 


Virginia  went  with  this  man  passively — 
to  an  appointment  which,  but  an  hour  ago, 
she  had  promised  herself  she  would  not 
keep.  Her  inmost  soul  was  stirred,  just  as 
before.  Then  it  had  been  few  words,  now 
it  was  a  little  common  song.  But  the 
strange  power  of  the  man  held  her  close,  so 
she  realized  that  for  the  moment  at  least 
she  would  do  as  he  desired.  In  the  amaze 
ment  and  consternation  of  this  thought  she 
found  time  to  offer  up  a  little  prayer: 
"Dear  God,  make  him  kind  to  me. " 

They  leaned  against  the  old  bronze  guns, 
facing   the   river.      He    pulled   her    shawl 
[90] 


Chapter  Eight 

about  her,  masterfully  yet  with  gentleness, 
and  then,  as  though  it  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  he  drew  her  to  him 
until  she  rested  against  his  shoulder.  And 
she  remained  there,  trembling,  in  suspense, 
glancing  at  him  quickly,  in  birdlike,  plead 
ing  glances,  as  though  praying  him  to  be 
kind.  He  took  no  notice  after  that,  so  the 
act  seemed  less  like  a  caress  than  a  matter 
of  course.  He  began  to  talk,  half-humor- 
ously,  and  little  by  little,  as  he  went  on,  she 
forgot  her  fears,  even  her  feeling  of  strange 
ness,  and  fell  completely  under  the  spell  of 
his  power. 

"My  name  is  Ned  Trent,"  he  told  her, 
"and  I  am  from  Quebec.  I  am  a  woods 
runner.  I  have  journeyed  far.  I  have 
been  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  North, 
even  up  beyond  the  Hills  of  Silence." 

And  then,  in  his   gay,  half-mocking,  yet 
[91] 


Conjurors  House 

musical  voice  he  touched  lightly  on  vast 
and  distant  things.  He  talked  of  the  great 
Saskatchewan,  of  Peace  River,  and  the 
delta  of  the  Mackenzie,  of  the  winter  jour 
neys  beyond  Great  Bear  Lake  into  the 
Land  of  the  Little  Sticks,  and  the  half- 
mythical  lake  of  Yamba  Tooh.  He  spoke 
of  life  with  the  Dog  Ribs  and  Yellow 
Knives,  where  the  snow  falls  in  midsum 
mer.  Before  her  eyes  slowly  spread,  like  a 
panorama,  the  whole  extent  of  the  great 
North,  with  its  fierce,  hardy  men,  its  dread 
ful  journeys  by  canoe  and  sledge,  its  frozen 
barrens,  its  mighty  forests,  its  solemn 
charm.  All  at  once  this  post  of  Conjuror's 
House,  a  month  in  the  wilderness  as  it  was, 
seemed  very  small  and  tame  and  civilized 
for  the  simple  reason  that  Death  did  not 
always  compass  it  about. 
"It  was  very  cold  then,"  said  Ned  Trent, 
[92] 


Chapter  Eight 

"  and  very  hard.  Le  grand  frete*  of  win 
ter  had  come.  At  night  we  had  no  other 
shelter  than  our  blankets,  and  we  could  not 
keep  a  fire  because  the  spruce  burned  too 
fast  and  threw  too  many  coals.  For  a  long 
time  we  shivered,  curled  up  on  our  snow- 
shoes  ;  then  fell  heavily  asleep,  so  that  even 
the  dogs  fighting  over  us  did  not  awaken  us. 
Two  or  three  times  in  the  night  we  boiled 
tea.  We  had  to  thaw  our  moccasins  each 
morning  by  thrusting  them  inside  our  shirts. 
Even  the  Indians  were  shivering  and  saying, 
'  Ed-sa,  yazzi  ed-sa ' — '  it  is  cold,  very  cold.' 
And  when  we  came  to  Rae  it  was  not  much 
better.  A  roaring  fire  in  the  fireplace  could 
not  prevent  the  ink  from  freezing  on  the 
pen.  This  went  on  for  five  months." 

Thus  he  spoke,  as  one  who  says  common 
things.     He  said  little  of  himself,  but  as  he 

*  Froid — cold. 

[93] 


Conjurors  House 

went  on  in  short,  curt  sentences  the  picture 
grew  more  distinct,  and  to  Virginia  the 
man  became  more  and  more  prominent  in 
it.  She  saw  the  dying  and  exhausted  dogs, 
the  frost-rimed,  weary  men ;  she  heard  the 
quick  crunch,  crunch,  crunch  of  the  snow- 
shoes  hurrying  ahead  to  break  the  trail ;  she 
felt  the  cruel  torture  of  the  mal  de  raquette, 
the  shrivelling  bite  of  the  frost,  the  pain  of 
snow  blindness,  the  hunger  that  yet  could 
not  stomach  the  frozen  fish  nor  the  hairy, 
black  caribou  meat.  One  thing  she  could 
not  conceive — the  indomitable  spirit  of  the 
men.  She  glanced  timidly  up  at  her  com 
panion's  face. 

"  The  Company  is  a  cruel  master,"  she 
sighed  at  last,  standing  upright,  then  lean 
ing  against  the  carriage  of  the  gun.  He 
let  her  go  without  protest,  almost  without 
thought,  it  seemed. 

[94] 


Chapter  Eight 

"  But  not  mine,"  said  he. 

She  exclaimed,  in  astonishment,  "  Are  you 
not  of  the  Company  ? " 

"I  am  no  man's  man  but  my  own,"  he 
answered,  simply. 

"  Then  why  do  you  stay  in  this  dreadful 
North  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  love  it.  It  is  my  life.  I  want 
to  go  where  no  man  has  set  foot  before  me ; 
I  want  to  stand  alone  under  the  sky;  I 
want  to  show  myself  that  nothing  is  too  big 
for  me — no  difficulty,  no  hardship — noth 
ing!" 

"  Why  did  you  come  here,  then  ?  Here 
at  least  are  forests  so  that  you  can  keep 
warm.  This  is  not  so  dreadful  as  the  Cop 
permine,  and  the  country  of  the  Yellow 
Knives.  Did  you  come  here  to  try  la 
Longue  Traverse  of  which  you  spoke 
to-day?" 

[95] 


Conjurors  House 

He  fell  suddenly  sombre,  biting  in  reflec 
tion  at  his  lip. 

"  No — yes — why  not?  "  he  said,  at  length. 

"  I  know  you  will  come  out  of  it  safely," 
said  she ;  "I  feel  it.  You  are  brave  and 
used  to  travel.  Won't  you  tell  me  about 
it?" 

He  did  not  reply.  After  a  moment  she 
looked  up  in  surprise.  His  brows  were 
knit  in  reflection.  He  turned  to  her  again, 
his  eyes  glowing  into  hers.  Once  more 
the  fascination  of  the  man  grew  big,  over 
whelmed  her.  She  felt  her  heart  flutter, 
her  consciousness  swim,  her  old  terror 
returning. 

"  Listen,"  said  he.  "  I  may  come  to  you 
to-morrow  and  ask  you  to  choose  between 
your  divine  pity  and  what  you  might  think 
to  be  your  duty.  Then  I  will  tell  you  all 
there  is  to  know  of  la  Longue  Traverse, 
[96] 


Chapter  Eight 

Now  it  is  a  secret  of  the  Company.  You 
are  a  Factor's  daughter;  you  know  what 
that  means."  He  dropped  his  head.  "  Ah, 
I  am  tired — tired  with  it  all !"  he  cried,  in 
a  voice  strangely  unhappy.  "  But  yesterday 
I  played  the  game  with  all  my  old  spirit ; 
to-day  the  zest  is  gone !  I  no  longer  care." 
He  felt  the  pressure  of  her  hand.  "  Are 
you  just  a  little  sorry  for  me?"  he  asked. 
"  Sorry  for  a  weakness  you  do  not  under 
stand  ?  You  must  think  me  a  fool." 

"I  know  you  are  unhappy,"  replied  Vir 
ginia,  gently.     "  I  am  truly  sorry  for  that." 

"  Are  you  ?  Are  you,  indeed  ?  "  he  cried. 
"  Unhappiness  is  worth  such  pity  as  yours." 
He  brooded  for  a  moment,  then  threw  his 
hands  out  with  what  might  have  been  a 
gesture  of  desperate  indifference.  Suddenly 
his  mood  changed  in  the  wrhimsical,  bewil 
dering  fashion  of  the  man.  "Ah,  a  star 
[97] 


Conjurors  House 

shoots  ! "  he  exclaimed,  gayly.    "  That  means 
a  kiss!" 

Still  laughing,  he  attempted  to  draw  her  to 
him.  Angry,  mortified,  outraged,  she  fought 
herself  free  and  leaped  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  cried,  in  insulted  anger. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  in  a  red  shame. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  in  sorrow. 

Her  calm  broke.  She  burst  into  the  violent 
sobbing  of  a  child,  and  turned  and  ran  hur 
riedly  to  the  factory. 

Ned  Trent  stared  after  her  a  minute  from 
beneath  scowling  brows.  He  stamped  his 
moccasined  foot  impatiently. 

"  Like  a  rat  in  a  trap  !  "  he  jeered  at  him 
self.  "  Like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  Ned  Trent ! 
The  fates  are  drawing  around  you  close. 
You  need  just  one  little  thing,  and  you  can 
not  get  it.  Bribery  is  useless !  Force  is 
useless  !  Craft  is  useless  !  This  afternoon 
[98] 


Chapter  Eight 

I  thought  I  saw  another  way.  What  I  could 
get  no  other  way  I  might  get  from  this  little 
girl.  She  is  only  a  child.  I  believe  I  could 
touch  her  pity — ah,  Ned  Trent,  Ned  Trent, 
can  you  ever  forget  her  frightened,  white 
face  begging  you  to  be  kind  ?  "  He  paced 
back  and  forth  between  the  two  bronze  guns 
with  long,  straight  strides,  like  a  panther  in 
a  cage.  "  Her  aid  is  mine  for  the  asking — 
but  she  makes  it  impossible  to  ask  I  I  could 
not  do  it.  Better  try  la  Longue  Traverse 
than  take  advantage  of  her  pity  —  she'd 
surely  get  into  trouble.  What  wonderful 
eyes  she  has.  She  thinks  I  am  a  brute — how 
she  sobbed,  as  though  her  little  heart  had 
broken.  Well,  it  was  the  only  way  to  de 
stroy  her  interest  in  me.  I  had  to  do  it. 
Now  she  will  despise  me  and  forget  me.  It 
is  better  that  she  should  think  me  a  brute 
than  that  I  should  be  always  haunted  by 
[99] 


Conjurors  House 

those  pleading  eyes."  The  door  of  the  dis 
tant  church  house  opened  and  closed.  He 
smiled  bitterly.  "  To  be  sure,  I  haven't 
tried  that,"  he  acknowledged.  "  Their  teach 
ings  are  singularly  apropos  to  my  case — 
mercy,  justice,  humanity — yes,  and  love  of 
man.  I'll  try  it.  I'll  call  for  help  on  the 
love  of  man,  since  I  cannot  on  the  love  of 

woman.     The  love  of  woman — ah yes." 

He   set  his  feet  reflectively  toward    the 
chapel. 


[100] 


Chapter  Nine 


After  a  moment  he  pushed:  bpen  the  *loor 
without  ceremony,  and  entered  :  He  itent 
his  brows,  studying  the  Reverend  Archibald 
Crane,  while  the  latter,  looking  up  startled, 
turned  pink. 

He  was  a  pink  little  man,  anyway,  the 
Reverend  Archibald  Crane,  and  why,  in  the 
inscrutability  of  its  wisdom,  the  Church  had 
sent  him  out  to  influence  strong,  grim  men, 
the  Church  in  its  inscrutable  wisdom  only 
knows.  He  wore  at  the  moment  a  cambric 
English  boating-hat  to  protect  his  bald  head 
from  the  draught,  a  full  clerical  costume  as 
far  as  the  trousers,  which  were  of  lavender, 
[101] 


Conjurors  House 

and  a  pair  of  beaded  moccasins  faced  with 
red.  His  weak  little  face  was  pink,  and 
two  tufts  of  side-whiskers  were  nearly  so. 
A  heavy  gold  -  headed  cane  stood  at  his 
hand.  When  he  heard  the  door  open  he 
exclaimed,  before  raising  his  head,  "  My, 
these  first  flies  of  tlie  season  do  bother  me 
so  t  V  -:a*id« .'then  looked' startled. 

"  Good-evening,"  greeted  Ned  Trent,  stop 
ping  squarely  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

The  clergyman  spread  his  arms  along  the 
desk's  edge  in  embarrassment. 

"  Good-evening,"  he  returned,  reluctantly. 
"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ? " 
The  visitor  puzzled  him,  but  was  dressed  as 
a  voyageur.  The  Reverend  Archibald  im 
mediately  resolved  to  treat  him  as  such. 

"  I  wish  to  introduce  myself  as  Ned  Trent," 
went  on  the  Free  Trader  with  composure, 
"  and  I  have  broken  in  on  your  privacy  this 
[102] 


Chapter  Nine 

evening  only  because  I  need  your  ministra 
tions  cruelly." 

"I  am  rejoiced  that  in  your  difficulties 
you  turn  to  the  consolations  of  the  Church," 
replied  the  other  in  the  cordial  tones  of  the 
man  who  is  always  ready.  "  Pray  be  seat 
ed.  He  whose  soul  thirsteth  need  offer  no 
apology  to  the  keeper  of  the  spiritual  foun 
tains." 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  the  stranger  dryly,  seat 
ing  himself  as  suggested,  "  only  in  this  case 
my  wants  are  temporal  rather  than  spiritual. 
They,  however,  seem  to  me  fully  within  the 
province  of  the  Church." 

"  The  Church  attempts  within  limits  to  aid 
those  who  are  materially  in  want,"  assured 
Crane,  with  official  dignity.  "  Our  resources 
are  small,  but  to  the  truly  deserving  we  are 
always  ready  to  give  in  the  spirit  of  true 
giving." 

[103] 


Conjurors  House 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it,"  returned  the 
young  man,  grimly ;  "  you  will  then  have 
no  difficulty  in  getting  me  so  small  a  matter 
as  a  rifle  and  about  forty  or  fifty  rounds  of 
ammunition." 

A  pause  of  astonishment  ensued. 

"  Why,  really,"  ejaculated  Crane,  "  I  fail 
to  see  how  that  falls  within  my  jurisdiction 
in  the  slightest.  You  should  see  our  Trader, 
Mr.  McDonald,  in  regard  to  all  such  things. 
Your  request  addressed  to  me  becomes  ex 
traordinary." 

"  Not  so  much  so  when  you  know  who  I 
am.  I  told  you  my  name  is  Ned  Trent, 
but  I  neglected  to  inform  you  further  that 
I  am  a  captured  Free  Trader,  condemned 
to  la  Longue  Traverse,  and  that  I  have  in 
vain  tried  to  procure  elsewhere  the  means 
of  escape." 

Then  the  clergyman  understood.  The  full 
[104] 


Chapter  Nine 

significance  of  the  intruder's  presence  flashed 
over  his  little  pink  face  in  a  trouble  of  un 
easiness.  The  probable  consequences  of 
such  a  bit  of  charity  as  his  visitor  proposed 
almost  turned  him  sick  with  excitement. 

"You  expect  to  have  them  of  me!"  he 
cried,  getting  his  voice  at  last. 

"Certainly,"  assured  his  interlocutor, 
crossing  his  legs  comfortably.  "  Don't  you 
see  the  logic  of  events  forces  me  to  think 
so  ?  What  other  course  is  open  to  you  ?  I 
am  in  this  country  entirely  within  my  legal 
rights  as  a  citizen  of  the  Canadian  Com 
monwealth.  Unjustly,  I  am  seized  by  a 
stronger  power  and  condemned  unjustly  to 
death.  Surely  you  admit  the  injustice  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course  you  know — the  customs 
of  the   country — it   is    hardly   an   abstract 
question — "  stammered  Crane,  still  without 
grasp  on  the  logic  of  his  argument. 
[105] 


Conjurors  House 

"But  as  an  abstract  question  the  injustice 
is  plain,"  resumed  the  Free  Trader,  imper- 
turbably.  "  And  against  plain  injustice  it 
strikes  me  there  is  but  one  course  open  to 
an  acknowledged  institution  of  abstract — 
and  concrete — morality.  The  Church  must 
set  itself  against  immorality,  and  you,  as  the 
Church's  representative,  must  get  me  a  rifle." 

"You  forget  one  thing,"  rejoined  Crane. 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Such  an  aid  would  be  a  direct  act  of  re 
bellion  against  authority  on  my  part,  which 
would  be  severely  punished.  Of  course," 
he  asserted,  with  conscious  righteousness,  "  I 
should  not  consider  that  for  a  moment  as 
far  as  my  own  personal  safety  is  concerned. 
But  my  cause  would  suffer.  You  forget, 
sir,  that  we  are  doing  here  a  great  and  good 
work.  We  have  in  our  weekly  congrega 
tional  singing  over  forty  regular  attendants 
[106] 


Chapter  Nine 

from  the  aborigines  ;  next  year  I  hope  to 
build  a  church  at  Whale  River,  thus  reach 
ing  the  benighted  inhabitants  of  that  distant 
region.  All  of  this  is  a  vital  matter  in  the 
service  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ.  You  suggest  that  I  endanger  all 
this  in  order  to  right  a  single  instance  of  in 
justice.  Of  course  we  are  told  to  love  one 
another,  but—  "  he  paused. 

"You  have  to  compromise,"  finished  the 
stranger  for  him. 

"Exactly,"  said  the  Reverend  Crane. 
"  Thank  you  ;  it  is  exactly  that.  In  order 
to  accomplish  what  little  good  the  Lord 
vouchsafes  to  our  poor  efforts,  we  are  obliged 
to  overlook  many  things.  Otherwise  we 
should  not  be  allowed  to  stay  here  at  all." 

"That  is  most  interesting,"  agreed    Ned 
Trent,  with  a  rather  biting  calm.     "  But  is 
it  not  a  little  calculating  ?    My  slight  famili- 
[107] 


Conjuror's  House 

arity  with  religious  history  and  literature  has 
always  led  me  to  believe  that  you  are  taught 
to  embrace  the  right  at  any  cost  whatsoever — 
that,  if  you  give  yourself  unreservedly  to 
justice,  the  Lord  will  sustain  you  through 
all  trials.  I  think  at  a  pinch  I  could  even 
quote  a  text  to  that  effect." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  objected  the  Reverend 
Archibald  in  gentle  protest,  "  you  evidently 
do  not  understand  the  situation  at  all.  I 
feel  I  should  be  most  untrue  to  my  trust  if 
I  were  to  endanger  in  any  way  the  life-long 
labor  of  my  predecessor.  You  must  be  able 
to  see  that  for  yourself.  It  would  destroy 
utterly  my  usefulness  here.  They'd  send 
me  away.  I  couldn't  go  on  with  the  work. 
I  have  to  think  what  is  for  the  best." 

"  There  is  some  justice  in  what  you  say," 
admitted   the   stranger,  "if  you  persist  in 
looking  on  this  thing  as  a  business  proposi- 
[108] 


Chapter  Nine 

tion.  But  it  seems  to  my  confessedly  un 
trained  mind  that  you  missed  the  point. 
'  Trust  in  the  Lord/  saith  the  prophet.  In 
fact,  certain  rivals  in  your  own  field  hold  the 
doctrine  you  expound,  and  you  consider 
them  wrong.  *  To  do  evil  that  good  may 
come '  I  seem  to  recognize  as  a  tenet  of  the 
Church  of  the  Jesuits." 

"  I  protest.  I  really  do  protest,"  objected 
the  clergyman,  scandalized. 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Ned  Trent,  with  good- 
natured  contempt.  ' '  That  is  not  the  point. 
Do  you  refuse  ? " 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  "  begged  the  other.  "  I'm 
sure  you  are  reasonable  enough  to  take  the 
case  on  its  broader  side." 

"  You  refuse  ?  "  insisted  Ned  Trent. 

"It  is  not  always  easy  to  walk  straightly 
before  the  Lord,  and  my  way  is  not  always 

clear  before  me,  but " 

[109] 


Conjurors  House 

"  You  refuse  !  "  cried  Ned  Trent,  rising  im 
patiently. 

The  Reverend  Archibald  Crane  looked  at 
his  catechiser  with  a  trace  of  alarm. 

"  I'm  sorry  ;  I'm  afraid  I  must,"  he  apolo 
gized. 

The  stranger  advanced  until  he  touched 
the  desk  on  the  other  side  of  which  the  Rev 
erend  Archibald  was  sitting,  where  he  stood 
for  some  moments  looking  down  on  his  op 
ponent  with  an  almost  amused  expression  of 
contempt. 

"You  are  an  interesting  little  beast,"  he 
drawled,  "  and  I've  seen  a  lot  of  your  kind 
in  my  time.  Here  you  preach  every  Sun 
day,  to  whomever  will  listen  to  you,  certain 
cut-and-dried  doctrines  you  don't  believe 
practically  in  the  least.  Here  for  the  first 
time  you  have  had  a  chance  to  apply  them 
literally,  and  you  hide  behind  a  lot  of  words. 
[110] 


Chapter  Nine 

And  while  you're  about  it  you  may  as  well 
hear  what  I  have  to  say  about  your  kind. 
I've  had  a  pretty  wide  experience  in  the 
North,  and  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about. 
Your  work  here  among  the  Indians  is  rot, 
and  every  sensible  man  knows  it.  You  coop 
them  up  in  your  log-built  houses,  you  force 
on  them  clothes  to  which  they  are  unaccus 
tomed  until  they  die  of  consumption.  Under 
your  little  tin-steepled  imitation  of  civiliza 
tion,  for  which  they  are  not  fitted,  they  learn 
to  beg,  to  steal,  to  lie.  I  have  travelled  far, 
but  I  have  yet  to  discover  what  your  kind 
are  allowed  on  earth  for.  You  are  narrow- 
minded,  bigoted,  intolerant,  and  without  a 
scrap  of  real  humanity  to  ornament  your 
mock  religion.  When  you  find  you  can't 
meddle  with  other  people's  affairs  enough  at 
home  you  get  sent  where  you  can  get  right 
in  the  business — and  earn  salvation  for  doing 


Conjuror's  House 

it.  I  don't  know  just  why  I  should  say  this 
to  you,  but  it  sort  of  does  me  good  to  tell 
it.  Once  I  heard  one  of  your  kind  tell  a 
sorrowing  mother  that  her  little  child  had 
gone  to  hell  because  it  had  died  before  he — 
the  smug  hypocrite — had  sprinkled  its  little 
body  with  a  handful  of  water.  There's 
humanity  for  you !  It  may  interest  you  to 
know  that  I  thrashed  that  man  then  and 
there.  You  are  all  alike  ;  I  know  the  breed. 
When  there  is  found  a  real  man  among 
you — and  there  are  such — he  is  so  different 
in  everything,  including  his  religion,  as  to  be 
really  of  another  race.  I  came  here  with 
out  the  slightest  expectation  of  getting  what 
I  asked  for.  As  I  said  before,  I  know  your 
breed,  and  I  know  just  how  well  your  two- 
thousand-year-old  doctrines  apply  to  practi 
cal  cases.  There  is  another  way,  but  I  hated 
to  use  it.  You'd  take  it  quick  enough,  I  dare 


Chapter  Nine 

say.  Here  is  where  I  should  receive  aid.  I 
may  have  to  get  it  where  I  should  not.  You 
a  man  of  God  !  Why,  you  poor  little  insect, 
I  can't  even  get  angry  at  you  ! " 

He  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  con 
fused  and  troubled  clergyman.  Then  he 
went  out. 


[113] 


Chapter  Ten 


Almost  immediately  the  door  opened  again. 

"  You,  Miss  Albret  !  "  cried  Crane. 

"What  does  this  mean  ?"  demanded  Vir 
ginia,  imperiously.  "  Who  is  that  man  ? 
In  what  danger  does  he  stand?  What 
does  he  want  a  rifle  for  ?  I  insist  on  know 
ing." 

She  stood  straight  and  tall  in  the  low 
room,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  head  thrown 
back  in  the  assured  power  of  command. 

The  Reverend  Crane  tried  to  temporize, 
hesitating  over  his  words.  She  cut  him 
short. 

"  That  is  nonsense.     Everybody  seems  to 
[114] 


Chapter  Ten 

know  but  myself.  I  am  no  child.  I  came 
to  consult  you — my  spiritual  adviser — in 
regard  to  this  very  case.  Accidentally  I 
overheard  enough  to  justify  me  in  knowing 


more." 


The  clergyman  murmured  something  about 
the  Company's  secrets.  Again  she  cut  him 
short. 

' fi  Company's  secrets  !  Since  when  has  the 
Company  confided  in  Andrew  Laviolette, 
in  Wishkobun,  in  you  !  " 

"  Possibly  you  would  better  ask  your 
father,"  said  Crane,  with  some  return  of 
dignity. 

"  It  does  not  suit  me  to  do  so,"  replied 
she.  "  I  insist  that  you  answer  my  ques 
tions.  Who  is  this  man  ?  " 

"  Ned  Trent,  he  says." 

"  I  will  not  be  put  off  in  this  way.  Who 
is  he  ?  What  is  he  ?  " 

[115] 


Conjurors  House 

"  He  is  a  Free  Trader, "  replied  the  Rever 
end  Crane  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  throws 
down  a  bomb  and  is  afraid  of  the  conse 
quences.  To  his  astonishment  the  bomb 
did  not  explode. 

"  What  is  that  ? "  she  asked,  simply. 

The  man's  jaw  dropped  and  his  eyes 
opened  in  astonishment.  Here  was  a  den 
sity  of  ignorance  in  regard  to  the  ordinary 
affairs  of  the  Post  which  could  by  no  stretch 
of  the  imagination  be  ascribed  to  chance. 
If  Virginia  Albret  did  not  know  the  mean 
ing  of  the  term,  and  all  the  tragic  conse 
quences  it  entailed,  there  could  be  but  one 
conclusion  :  Galen  Albret  had  not  intended 
that  she  should  know.  She  had  purposely 
been  left  in  ignorance,  and  a  politic  man 
would  hesitate  long  before  daring  to  en 
lighten  her.  The  Reverend  Crane,  in  sheer 
terror,  became  sullen. 

[116] 


Chapter  Ten 

"  A  Free  Trader  is  a  man  who  trades  in 
opposition  to  the  Company,"  said  he,  cau 
tiously. 

"  What  great  danger  is  he  in  ? "  the  girl 
persisted  with  her  catechism. 

"  None  that  I  am  aware  of,"  replied  Crane, 
suavely.  "  He  is  a  very  ill-balanced  and  ex 
citable  young  man." 

Virginia's  quick  instincts  recognized  again 
the  same  barrier  which,  with  the  people, 
with  Wishkobun,  with  her  father,  had  shut 
her  so  effectively  from  the  truth.  Her 
power  of  femininity  and  position  had  to  give 
way  before  the  man's  fear  for  himself  and 
of  Galen  Albret's  unexpressed  wish.  She 
asked  a  few  more  questions,  received  a  few 
more  evasive  replies,  and  left  the  little 
clergyman  to  recover  as  best  he  might  from 
a  very  trying  evening. 

Out  in  the  night  the  girl  hesitated  in  two 
[117] 


Conjurors  House 

minds  as  to  what  to  do  next.  She  was  ex 
cited,  and  resolved  to  finish  the  affair,  but 
she  could  not  bring  her  courage  to  the  point 
of  questioning  her  father.  That  the  stranger 
was  in  antagonism  to  the  Company,  that  he 
believed  himself  to  be  in  danger  on  that  ac 
count,  that  he  wanted  succor,  she  saw  clear 
ly  enough.  But  the  whole  affair  was  vague, 
disquieting.  She  wanted  to  see  it  plainly, 
know  its  reasons.  And  beneath  her  excite 
ment  she  recognized,  with  a  catch  of  the 
breath,  that  she  was  afraid  for  him.  She 
had  not  time  now  to  ask  herself  what  it 
might  mean  ;  she  only  realized  the  presence 
of  the  fact. 

She  turned  instinctively  in  the  direction  of 
Doctor  Cockburn's  house.  Mrs.  Cockburn 
was  a  plain  little  middle-aged  woman  with 
parted  gray  hair  and  sweet,  faded  eyes.  In 
the  life  of  the  place  she  was  a  nonentity,  and 
[118] 


Chapter  Ten 

her  tastes  were  homely  and  commonplace, 
but  Virginia  liked  her. 

She  proved  to  be  at  home,  the  Doctor 
still  at  his  dispensary,  which  was  well.  Vir 
ginia  entered  a  small  log  room,  passed 
through  it  immediately  to  a  larger  papered 
room,  and  sat  down  in  a  musty  red  arm 
chair.  The  building  was  one  of  the  old 
regime,  which  meant  that  its  floor  was  of 
wide  and  rather  uneven  painted  boards,  its 
ceiling  low,  its  windows  small,  and  its  gen 
eral  lines  of  an  irregular  and  sagging  rule- 
of-thumb  tendency.  The  white  wall-paper 
evidently  concealed  squared  logs.  The  pres 
ent  inhabitants,  being  possessed  at  once  of 
rather  homely  tastes  and  limited  facilities, 
had  over- furnished  the  place  with  an  in 
finitude  of  little  things — little  rugs,  lit 
tle  tables,  little  knit  doilies,  little  racks 
of  photographs,  little  china  ornaments, 
[119] 


Conjuror's  House 

little   spidery  what-nots,   and    shelves    for 
books. 

Virginia  seated  herself,  and  went  directly 
to  the  topic. 

"  Mrs.  Cockburn,"  she  said,  "  you  have  al 
ways  been  very  good  to  me,  always,  ever 
since  I  came  here  as  a  little  girl.  I  have 
not  always  appreciated  it,  I  am  afraid,  but 
I  am  in  great  trouble,  and  I  want  your 
help." 

' '  What  is  it,  dearie,"  asked  the  older 
woman,  softly.  "Of  course  I  will  do  any 
thing  I  can." 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  all  this  mys 
tery  is — about  the  man  who  to-day  arrived 
from  Kettle  Portage,  I  mean.  I  have 
asked  everybody:  I  have  tried  by  all  means 
in  my  power  to  get  somebody  somewhere 
to  tell  me.  It  is  maddening — and  I  have 
a  special  reason  for  wanting  to  know," 
[120] 


Chapter  Ten 

The  older  woman  was  already  gazing  at 
her  through  troubled  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  shame  and  a  mistake  to  keep 
you  so  in  ignorance ! "  she  broke  out,  "and 
I  have  said  so  always.  There  are  many 
things  you  have  the  right  to  know,  al 
though  some  of  them  would  make  you  very 
unhappy — as  they  do  all  of  us  poor  women 
who  have  to  live  in  this  land  of  dread.  But 
in  this  I  cannot,  dearie." 

Virginia  felt  again  the  impalpable  shadow 
of  truth  escaping  her.  Baffled,  confused, 
she  began  to  lose  her  self-control.  A  dozen 
times  to-day  she  had  reached  after  this 
thing,  and  always  her  fingers  had  closed  on 
empty  air.  She  felt  that  she  could  not 
stand  the  suspense  of  bewilderment  a  single 
instant  longer.  The  tears  overflowed  and 
rolled  down  her  cheeks  unheeded. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Cockburn  ! "  she  cried.   "Please! 


Conjuror's  House 

You  do  not  know  how  dreadful  this  thing 
has  come  to  be  to  me  just  because  it  is 
made  so  mysterious.  Why  has  it  been 
kept  from  me  alone  ?  It  must  have  some 
thing  to  do  with  me,  and  I  can't  stand 
this  mystery,  this  double-dealing,  another 
minute.  If  you  won't  tell  me,  nobody  will, 
and  I  shall  go  on  imagining — Oh,  please 
have  pity  on  me  !  I  feel  the  shadow  of  a 
tragedy.  It  comes  out  in  everything,  in 
everybody  to  whom  I  turn.  I  see  it  in 
Wishkobun's  avoidance  of  me,  in  my 
father's  silence,  in  Mr.  Crane's  confusion, 
in  your  reluctance — yes,  in  the  very  reckless 
insolence  of  Mr.  Trent  himself ! " — her 
voice  broke  slightly.  "  If  you  will  not  tell 
me,  I  shall  go  direct  to  my  father,"  she 
ended,  with  more  firmness. 

Mrs.  Cockburn  examined  the  girl's  flushed 
face  through  kindly   but    shrewd   and   ex- 

rm] 


Chapter  Ten 

perienced  eyes.  Then,  with  a  caressing  lit 
tle  murmur  of  pity,  she  arose  and  seated 
herself  on  the  arm  of  the  red  chair,  taking 
the  girl's  hand  in  hers. 

"  I  believe  you  mean  it,"  she  said,  "  and  1 
am  going  to  tell  you  myself.  There  is 
much  sorrow  in  it  for  you ;  but  if  you  go  to 
your  father  it  will  only  make  it  worse.  I 
am  doing  what  I  should  not.  It  is  shame 
ful  that  such  things  happen  in  this  nine 
teenth  century,  but  happen  they  do.  The 
long  and  short  of  it  is  that  the  Factors  of 
this  Post  tolerate  no  competition  in  the 
country,  and  when  a  man  enters  it  for  the 
purpose  of  trading  with  the  Indians,  he  is 
stopped  and  sent  out." 

"There  is  nothing  very  bad  about  that," 
said  Virginia,  relieved. 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  in  that.  But  they  say 
his  arms  and  supplies  are  taken  from  him, 


Conjurors  House 

and  he  is  given  a  bare  handful  of  provis 
ions.  He  has  to  make  a  quick  journey,  and 
to  starve  at  that.  Once  when  I  was  visiting 
out  at  the  front,  not  many  years  ago,  I  saw 
one  of  those  men — they  called  him  Jo  Bag- 
neau — and  his  condition  was  pitiable — piti 
able!" 

"  But  hardships  can  be  endured.  A  man 
can  escape." 

"  Yes,"  almost  whispered  Mrs.  Cockburn, 
looking  about  her  apprehensively,  "  but  the 
story  goes  that  there  are  some  cases — when 
the  man  is  an  old  offender,  or  especially  de 
termined,  or  so  prominent  as  to  be  able  to 
interest  the  law — no  one  breathes  of  these 
cases  here — but — he  never  gets  out !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean? "  cried  Virginia, 
harshly. 

"  One   dares   not  mean  such   things ;  but 
they  are  so.     The  hardships  of  the  wilder- 
[124] 


Chapter  Ten 

ness  are  many,  the  dangers  terrible — what 
more  natural  than  that  a  man  should  die  of 
them  in  the  forest  ?  It  is  no  one's  fault." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  repeated  Virginia; 
"  for  God's  sake  speak  plainly  !  " 

"  I  dare  not  speak  plainer  than  I  know ; 
and  no  one  ever  really  knows  anything 
about  it — excepting  the  Indian  who  fires 
the  shot,  or  who  watches  the  man  un 
til  he  dies  of  starvation,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Cockburn. 

"But — but!"  cried  the  girl,  grasping  her 
companion's  arm.  "My  father!  Does  he 
give  such  orders  ?  He  ?  " 

"  No  orders  are  given.  The  thing  is  un 
derstood.  Certain  runners,  whose  turn  it 
is,  shadow  the  Free  Trader.  Your  father  is 
not  responsible;  no  one  is  responsible.  It 
is  the  policy." 

"  And  this  man " 

[125] 


Conjurors  House 

"  It  has  gone  about  that  he  is  to  take  la 
Longue  Traverse.  He  knows  it  himself." 

"  It  is  barbaric,  horrible;  it  is  murder." 

"  My  dear,  it  is  all  that ;  but  this  is  the 
country  of  dread.  You  have  known  the 
soft,  bright  side  always — the  picturesque 
men,  the  laugh,  the  song.  If  you  had  seen 
as  much  of  the  harshness  of  wilderness  life 
as  a  doctor's  wife  must  you  would  know 
that  when  the  storms  of  their  great  passions 
rage  it  is  well  to  sit  quiet  at  your  prayers." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  wide-fixed,  staring  at 
this  first  reality  of  life.  A  thousand  new 
thoughts  jostled  for  recognition.  Suddenly 
her  world  had  been  swept  from  beneath 
her.  The  ancient  patriarchal,  kindly  rule 
had  passed  away,  and  in  its  place  she  was 
forced  to  see  a  grim  iron  bond  of  death  laid 
over  her  domain.  And  her  father  —  no 
longer  the  grave,  kindly  old  man — had  be- 
[126] 


Chapter  Ten 

come  the  ruthless  tyrant.  All  these  bright, 
laughing  voyageurs,  playmates  of  her  child 
hood,  were  in  reality  executioners  of  a  sav 
age  blood-law.  She  could  not  adjust  her 
self  to  it. 

She  got  to  her  feet  with  an  effort. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Cockburn,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  I — I  do  not  quite  under 
stand.  But  I  must  go  now.  I  must — I 
must  see  that  my  father's  room  is  ready  for 
him,"  she  finished,  with  the  proud  defen 
sive  instinct  of  the  woman  who  has  been 
deeply  touched.  "  You  know  I  always  do 
that  myself." 

"Good-night,  dearie,"  replied  the  older 
woman,  understanding  well  the  girl's  desire 
to  shelter  behind  the  commonplace.  She 
leaned  forward  and  kissed  her.  "  God 
keep  and  guide  you.  I  hope  I  have  done 
right." 

[127] 


Conjurors  House 

"Yes,"  cried  Virginia,  with  unexpected  fire. 
"  Yes,  you  did  just  right !  I  ought  to  have 
been  told  long  ago  !  They've  kept  me  a 
perfect  child  to  whom  everything  has  been 
bright  and  care-free  and  simple.  I — I  feel 
that  until  this  moment  I  have  lacked  my 
real  womanhood  !  " 

She  bowed  her  head  and  passed  through 
the  log  room  into  the  outer  air. 

Her  father,  her  father,  had  willed  this 
man's  death,  and  so  he  was  to  die !  That 
explained  many  things — the  young  fellow's 
insolence,  his  care-free  recklessness,  his  pas 
sionate  denunciation  of  the  Reverend  Crane 
and  the  Reverend  Crane's  religion.  He 
wanted  one  little  thing — the  gift  of  a  rifle 
wherewith  to  assure  his  subsistence  should 
he  escape  into  the  forest — and  of  all  those 
at  Conjuror's  House  to  whom  he  might 
turn  for  help,  some  were  too  hard  to  give  it 
[128] 


Chapter  Ten 

to  him,  and  some  too  afraid !  He  should 
have  it !  She,  the  daughter  of  her  father, 
would  see  to  it  that  in  this  one  instance  her 
father's  sin  should  fail !  Suddenly,  in  the 
white  heat  of  her  emotion,  she  realized  why 
these  matters  stirred  her  so  profoundly,  and 
she  stopped  short  and  gasped  with  the 
shock  of  it.  It  did  not  matter  that  she 
thwarted  her  father's  will ;  it  would  not 
matter  if  she  should  be  discovered  and  pun 
ished  as  only  these  harsh  characters  could 
punish.  For  the  brave  bearing,  the  brave 
jest,  the  jaunty  facing  of  death,  the  tender, 
low  voice,  the  gay  song,  the  aurora-lit  mo 
ment  of  his  summons — all  these  had  at  last 
their  triumph.  She  knew  that  she  loved 
him ;  and  that  if  he  were  to  die,  she  would 
surely  die  too. 

And,  oh,  it  must  be  that  he  loved  her  ! 

Had  she  not  heard  it  in  the  music  of  his 

[129] 


Conjurors  House 

voice  from  the  first?  —  the  passion  of  his 
tones  ?  the  dreamy,  lyrical  swing  of  his  talk 
by  the  old  bronze  guns  ? 

Then  she  staggered  sharply,  and  choked 
back  a  cry.  For  out  of  her  recollections 
leaped  two  sentences  of  his  —  the  first 
careless,  imprudent,  unforgivable ;  the  sec 
ond  pregnant  with  meaning.  "A h,  a  star 
shoots  !  "  he  had  said.  "  That  means  a  kiss!  " 
and  again,  to  the  clergyman,  "  /  came  here 
without  the  slightest  expectation  of  getting 
what  I  asked  for.  There  is  another  way, 
but  I  hate  to  use  it." 

She  was  the  other  way !  She  saw  it 
plainly.  He  did  not  love  her,  but  he  saw 
that  he  could  fascinate  her,  and  he  hoped  to 
use  her  as  an  aid  to  his  escape.  She  threw 
her  head  up  proudly. 

Then  a  man  swung  into  view  across  the 
Northern    Lights.     Virginia   pressed    back 
[130] 


Chapter  Ten 

against  the  palings  among  the  bushes  until 
he  should  have  passed.  It  was  Ned  Trent, 
returning  from  a  walk  to  the  end  of  the  isl 
and.  He  was  alone  and  unfollowed,  and  the 
girl  realized  with  a  sudden  grip  at  the  heart 
that  the  wilderness  itself  was  sufficient  safe 
guard  against  a  man  unarmed  and  un 
equipped.  It  was  not  considered  worth 
while  even  to  watch  him.  Should  he  es 
cape,  unarmed  as  he  was,  sure  death  by 
starvation  awaited  him  in  the  land  of 
dread. 

As  he  entered  the  settlement  he  struck  up 
an  air. 

" Lejtls  du  rot  sen  va  chassant, 
En  roulant  ma  boule, 
Avec  son  grand  fusil  a"  argent, 
Rouli  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant." 

Almost  immediately  a  window  slid  back, 
and  an  exasperated  voice  cried  out : 


Conjurors  House 

"  Hola  dere,  w'at  one  time  dam  fool  you 
for  mak'  de  sing  so  late  ! " 
The  voice  went  on  imperturbably : 

"  Avec  son  grand  fusil  d' argent, 
En  roulant  ma  boule, 
Visa  le  noir,  tua  le  blanc, 
Rouli  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant." 

"  Sacre  !  "  shrieked  the  habitant. 

"  Hello,  Johnny  Frenchman ! "  called  Ned 
Trent,  in  his  acid  tones.  "  That  you  ?  Be 
more  polite,  or  I'll  stand  here  and  sing  you 
the  whole  of  it." 

The  window  slammed  shut. 

Ned  Trent  took  up  his  walk  again  toward 
some  designated  sleeping-place  of  his  own, 
his  song  dying  into  the  distance. 

"  Visa  le  noir,  tua  le  blanc, 
En  roulant  ma  boule, 
OJils  du  roi,  tu  es  mediant ! 
Rouli  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant." 
[132] 


Chapter  Ten 

"And  he  can  sing!"  cried  the  girl  bitterly 
to  herself.  "At  such  a  time!  Oh,  my 
dear  God,  help  me,  help  me !  I  am  the  un- 
happiest  girl  alive  !  " 


[133] 


Chapter  Eleven 


Virginia  did  not  sleep  at  all  that  night. 
She  was  reaching  toward  her  new  self. 
Heretofore  she  had  ruled  those  about  her 
proudly,  secure  in  her  power  and  influence. 
Now  she  saw  that  all  along  her  influence 
had  in  not  one  jot  exceeded  that  of  the 
winsome  girl.  She  had  no  real  power  at 
all.  They  went  mercilessly  on  in  the  grim 
way  of  their  fathers,  dealing  justice  even- 
handed  according  to  their  own  crude  con 
ceptions  of  it,  without  thought  of  God  or 
man.  She  turned  hot  all  over  as  she  saw 
herself  in  this  new  light — as  she  saw  those 
about  her  indulgently  smiling  at  her  airs  of 
[134] 


Chapter  Eleven 

the  mistress  of  it.  It  angered  her— though 
the  smile  might  be  good-humored,  even 
affectionate. 

And  she  shrank  into  herself  with  utter 
loathing  when  she  remembered  Ned  Trent. 
There  indeed  her  woman's  pride  was  hard 
stricken.  She  recalled  with  burning  cheeks 
how  his  intense  voice  had  stirred  her;  how 
his  wishes  had  compelled  her;  she  shivered 
pitifully  as  she  remembered  the  warmth  of 
his  shoulder  touching  carelessly  her  own. 
If  he  had  come  to  her  honestly  and  asked 
her  aid,  she  would  have  given  it;  but  this 
underhand  pretence  at  love!  It  was  un 
worthy  of  him;  and  it  was  certainly  most 
unworthy  of  her.  What  must  he  think  of 
her?  How  he  must  be  laughing  at  her — 
and  hoping  that  his  spell  was  working,  so 
that  he  could  get  the  coveted  rifle  and  the 
forty  cartridges. 

[135] 


Conjurors  House 

"I  hate  him!"  she  cried  to  herself,  the 
backs  of  her  long,  slender  hands  pressed 
against  her  eyes.  She  meant  that  she  loved 
him,  but  for  the  purposes  in  hand  one 
would  do  as  well  as  the  other. 

At  earliest  daylight  she  was  up.  Bath 
ing  her  face  and  throat  in  cold  water,  and 
hastily  catching  her  beautiful  light  hair 
under  a  cap,  she  slipped  down  stairs  and 
out  past  the  stockade  to  the  point.  There 
she  seated  herself,  a  heavy  shawl  about  her, 
and  gave  herself  up  to  reflection.  She  had 
approached  silently,  her  moccasins  giving 
no  sound.  Presently  she  became  aware  that 
someone  was  there  before  her.  Looking 
toward  the  river  she  saw  on  the  next  level 
below  her  a  man,  seated  on  a  bowlder,  and 
gazing  to  the  south. 

His  very  soul  was  in  his  eyes.     Virginia 
gasped  at  the  change  in  him  since  last  she 
[136] 


Virginia  gaxped  at  the  change  in  //hn. 


Chapter  Eleven 

had  seen  .him.  The  gay,  mocking  demeanor 
which  had  seemed  an  essential  part  of  his 
very  flesh  and  blood  had  fallen  away  from 
him,  leaving  a  sad  and  lofty  dignity  that 
ennobled  his  countenance.  The  lines  of  his 
face  were  stern,  of  his  mouth  pathetic ;  his 
eyes  yearned.  He  stared  toward  the  south 
with  an  almost  mesmeric  intensity,  as 
though  he  hoped  by  sheer  longing  to  mate 
rialize  a  vision.  Tears  sprang  to  the  girl's 
eyes  at  the  subtle  pathos  of  his  attitude. 

He  stretched  his  arms  wearily  over  his 
head,  and  sighed  deeply  and  looked  up.  His 
eyes  rested  on  the  girl  without  surprise ;  the 
expression  of  his  features  did  not  change. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  simply.     "  To-day 
is  my  last  of  plenty.     I  am  up  enjoying  it." 

Virginia  had  anticipated  the  usual  instan 
taneous  transformation  of  his  manner  when 
he  should  catch  sight  of  her.     Her  resent- 
[137] 


Conjurors  House 

ment  was  dispelled.     In  face  of  the  vaster 
tragedies  little  considerations  gave  way. 

"  Do  you  leave — to-day  ? "  she  asked,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  To-morrow  morning,  early,"  he  corrected. 
"  To-day  I  found  my  provisions  packed  and 
laid  at  my  door.  It  is  a  hint  I  know  how  to 
take." 

"  You  have  everything  you  need  ?  "  asked 
the  girl,  with  an  assumption  of  indifference. 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  Everything,"  he  lied,  calmly. 

Virginia  perceived  that  he  lied,  and  her 
heart  stood  still  with  a  sudden  hope  that 
perhaps,  at  this  eleventh  hour,  he  might 
have  repented  of  his  unworthy  intentions 
toward  herself.  She  leaned  to  him  over  the 
edge  of  the  little  rise. 

"  Have  you  a  rifle — for  la  Longue   Tra 
verse  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  meaning. 
[138] 


Chapter  Eleven 

He  stared  at  her  a  little  the  harder. 

"  Why — why,  surely,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone 
less  confident.  "  Nobody  travels  without  a 
rifle  in  the  North." 

She  dropped  swiftly  down  the  slope  and 
stood  face  to  face  with  him. 

"  Listen,"  she  began,  in  her  superb  manner. 
"  I  know  all  there  is  to  know.  You  are  a 
Free  Trader,  and  you  are  to  be  sent  to  your 
death.  It  is  murder,  and  it  is  done  by  my 
father."  She  held  her  head  proudly,  but  the 
notes  of  her  voice  were  straining.  "  I  knew 
nothing  of  this  yesterday.  I  was  a  foolish 
girl  who  thought  all  men  were  good  and 
just,  and  that  all  those  whom  I  knew  were 
noble.  My  eyes  are  open  now.  I  see  in 
justice  being  done  by  my  own  household, 
and  " — tears  were  trembling  near  her  lashes, 
but  she  blinked  them  back — "  and  I  am  no 
longer  a  foolish  girl !  You  need  not  try  to 
[139] 


Conjuror  s  House 

deceive  me.  You  must  tell  me  what  I  can 
do,  for  I  cannot  permit  so  great  a  wrong  to 
be  done  by  my  father  without  attempting  to 
set  it  right."  This  was  not  what  she  had  in 
tended  to  say,  but  suddenly  the  course  was 
clear  to  her.  The  influence  of  the  man  had 
again  swept  over  her,  drowning  her  will,  fill 
ing  her  with  the  old  fear,  which  was  now  for 
the  moment  turned  to  pride  by  the  character 
of  the  situation. 

But  to  her  surprise  the  man  was  thinking 
of  something  else. 

"  Who  told  you  ? "  he  demanded,  harshly. 
Then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  "  It  was 
that  little  preacher;  Til  have  an  interview 
with  him ! " 

"  No,  no  ! "  protested  the  girl.  "  It  was 
not  he.  It  was  a  friend.  I  had  the  right  to 
know." 

"  You  had  no  right ! "  he  cried,  vehemently. 
[140] 


Chapter  Eleven 

"You  and  life  should  have  nothing  to  do 
with  each  other.  There  is  a  look  in  your 
eyes  that  was  not  in  them  yesterday,  and  the 
one  who  put  it  there  is  not  your  friend."  He 
stood  staring  at  her  intently,  as  one  who 
ponders  what  is  best  to  do.  Then  very 
quietly  he  took  her  hands  and  drew  her  to  a 
place  beside  him  on  the  bowlder. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something,  little 
girl,"  said  he,  "  and  you  must  listen  quietly 
to  the  end.  Perhaps  at  the  last  you  may 
see  more  clearly  than  you  do  now. 

"  This  old  Company  of  yours  has  been  es 
tablished  for  a  great  many  years.  Back  in 
old  days,  over  two  centuries  ago,  it  pushed 
up  into  this  wilderness  to  trade  for  its  furs. 
That  you  know.  And  then  it  explored  ever 
farther  to  the  west  and  the  north,  until  its 
servants  stood  on  the  shores  of  the  Pacific 
and  the  stretches  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  And 
[141] 


Conjuror  s  House 

its  servants  loved  it.  Enduring  immense 
hardships,  cut  off  from  their  kind,  outlining 
dimly  with  the  eye  of  faith  the  structure  of 
a  mighty  power,  they  loved  it  always.  Thou 
sands  of  men  were  in  its  employ,  and  so  loyal 
were  they  that  its  secrets  were  safe  and  its 
prestige  was  defended,  often  to  a  lonely 
death.  I  have  known  the  Company  and  its 
servants  for  a  long  time,  and  if  I  had  leisure 
I  could  instance  a  hundred  examples  of  de 
votion  and  sacrifice  beside  which  mere  pa 
triotism  would  seem  a  little  thing.  Men 
who  had  no  country  cleaved  to  her  desolate 
posts,  her  lakes  and  rivers  and  forests ;  men 
who  had  no  home  ties  felt  the  tug  of  her  wild 
life  at  their  hearts ;  men  who  had  no  God 
bowed  in  awe  before  her  power  and  grandeur. 
The  Company  was  a  living  thing. 

"  Rivals  attempted  her  supremacy,  and  were 
defeated   by  the  steadfastness  of  the  men 


Chapter  Eleven 

who  received  her  meagre  wages  and  looked 
to  her  as  their  one  ideal.  Her  explorers 
wrere  the  bravest,  her  traders  the  most  enter 
prising  and  single-minded,  her  factors  and 
partners  the  most  capable  and  potent  in  all 
the  world.  No  country,  no  leader,  no  State 
ever  received  half  the  worship  her  sons  gave 
her.  The  fierce  Nor' westers,  the  traders  of 
Montreal,  the  Company  of  the  X  Y,  Astor 
himself,  had  to  give  way.  For,  although  they 
were  bold  or  reckless  or  crafty  or  able,  they 
had  not  the  ideal  which  raises  such  qualities 
to  invincibility. 

"  And,  little  girl,  nothing  is  wrong  to  men 
who  have  such  an  ideal  before  them.  They 
see  but  one  thing,  and  all  means  are  good 
that  help  them  to  assure  that  one  thing. 
They  front  the  dangers,  they  overcome  the 
hardships,  they  crush  the  rivals.  Bloody 
wars  have  taken  place  in  these  forests,  ruth- 
[143] 


Conjuror  s  House 

less  deeds  have  been  done,  but  the  men  who 
accomplished  them  held  the  deeds  good.  So 
for  two  hundred  years,  aided  by  the  charter 
from  the  king,  they  have  made  good  their 
undisputed  right. 

"  Then  the  railroad  entered  the  west.  The 
charter  of  monopoly  ran  out.  Through  the 
Nipissing,  the  Athabasca,  the  Edmonton, 
came  the  Free  Traders — men  who  traded 
independently.  These  the  Company  could 
not  control,  so  it  competed — and  to  its  credit 
its  competition  has  held  its  own.  Even  far 
into  the  Northwest,  where  the  trails  are 
long,  the  Free  Traders  have  established 
their  chains  of  supplies,  entering  into  rivalry 
with  the  Company  for  a  barter  it  has  always 
considered  its  right.  The  medicine  has  been 
bitter,  but  the  servants  of  the  Company 
have  adjusted  themselves  to  the  new  con 
ditions,  and  are  holding  their  own. 
[144] 


Chapter  Eleven 

"  But  one  region  still  remains  cut  off  from 
the  outside  world  by  a  broad  band  of  unex 
plored  waste.  The  life  here  at  Hudson's 
Bay — although  you  may  not  know  it — is  ex 
actly  the  same  to-day  that  it  was  two  hundred 
years  ago.  And  here  the  Company  makes 
its  stand  for  a  monopoly. 

"At  first  it  worked  openly.  But  in  the 
case  of  Guillaume  Sayer,  a  daring  and  pug 
nacious  metis,  it  got  into  trouble  with  the 
law.  Since  that  time  it  has  wrapped  itself 
in  secrecy  and  mystery,  carrying  on  its  affairs 
behind  the  screen  of  five  hundred  miles  of 
forest.  Here  it  has  still  the  power ;  no  man 
can  establish  himself  here,  can  even  travel 
here,  without  its  consent,  for  it  controls  the 
food  and  the  Indians.  The  Free  Trader 
enters,  but  he  does  not  stay  for  long.  The 
Company's  servants  are  mindful  of  their  old 
fanatical  ideal.  Nothing  is  ever  known,  no 
[145] 


Conjurors  House 

orders  are  ever  given,  but  something  happens, 
and  the  man  never  ventures  again. 

"  If  he  is  an  ordinary  metis  or  Canadian,  he 
emerges  from  the  forest  starved,  frightened, 
thankful.  If  his  story  is  likely  to  be  believed 
in  high  places,  he  never  emerges  at  all.  The 
dangers  of  wilderness  travel  are  many :  he 
succumbs  to  them.  That  is  the  whole  story. 
Nothing  definite  is  known  ;  no  instances 
can  be  proved ;  your  father  denies  the  legend 
and  calls  it  a  myth.  The  Company  claims 
to  be  ignorant  of  it,  perhaps  its  greater  of 
ficers  really  are,  but  the  legend  holds  so  good 
that  the  journey  has  its  name — la  Longue 

Traverse. 

66  But  remember  this,  no  man  is  to  blame 
— unless  it  is  he  who  of  knowledge  takes 
the  chances.  It  is  a  policy,  a  growth  of 
centuries,  an  idea  unchangeable  to  which 
the  long  services  of  many  fierce  and  loyal 
[146] 


Chapter  Eleven 

men  have  given  substance.  A  Factor  can 
not  change  it.  If  he  did,  the  thing  would 
be  outside  of  nature,  something  not  to  be 
understood. 

"  I  am  here.  I  am  to  take  la  Longue 
Traverse.  But  no  man  is  to  blame.  If  the 
scheme  of  the  thing  is  wrong,  it  has  been 
so  from  the  very  beginning,  from  the  time 
when  King  Charles  set  his  signature  to  the 
charter  of  unlimited  authority.  The  history 
of  a  thousand  men  gives  the  tradition  power, 
gives  it  insistence.  It  is  bigger  than  any 
one  individual.  It  is  as  inevitable  as  that 
water  should  flow  down  hill." 

He  had  spoken  quietly,  but  very  earnestly, 
still  holding  her  two  hands,  and  she  had  sat 
looking  at  him  unblinking  from  eyes  behind 
which  passed  many  thoughts.  When  he 
had  finished,  a  short  pause  followed,  at  the 
end  of  which  she  asked  unexpectedly, 
[147] 


Conjurors  House 

"  Last  evening  you  told  me  that  you  might 
come  to  me  and  ask  me  to  choose  between 
my  pity  and  what  I  might  think  to  be  my 
duty.  What  are  you  going  to  ask  of  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  spoke  idle  words." 

"  Last  evening  I  overheard  you  demand 
something  of  Mr.  Crane,"  she  pursued,  with 
out  commenting  on  his  answer.  "  When 
he  refused  you  I  heard  you  say  these  words, 
'  Here  is  where  I  should  have  received  aid  ; 
I  may  have  to  get  it  where  I  should  not.' 
What  was  the  aid  you  asked  of  him  ?  and 
where  else  did  you  expect  to  get  it  ? " 

"  The  aid  was  something  impossible  to  ac 
cord,  and  I  did  not  expect  to  get  it  else 
where.  I  said  that  in  order  to  induce  him 
to  help  me." 

A  wonderful  light  sprang  to  the  girl's  eyes, 
but  still  she  maintained  her  level  voice. 

"  You  asked  him  for  a  rifle  with  which  to 
[148] 


Chapter  Eleven 

escape.     You   expected    to  get  it  of  me. 
Deny  it  if  you  can." 

Ned  Trent  looked  at  her  keenly  a  moment, 
then  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  he. 

"  And  the  pity  was  to  give  you  this  weapon ; 
and  the  duty  was  my  duty  to  my  father's 
house." 

"  It  is  true,"  he  repeated,  dejectedly. 

"  And  you  lied  to  me  when  you  said  you 
had  a  rifle  with  which  to  journey  la  Longue 
Traverse." 

66  That  too  is  true,"  he  acknowledged. 

When  next  she  spoke  her  voice  was  not 
quite  so  well  controlled. 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  me,  as  you  in 
tended  ?  Why  did  you  tell  me  these  lies  ?  " 

The  young  man  hesitated,  looked  her  in 
the  face,  turned  away,  and  murmured, 

"  I  could  not." 

[149] 


Conjurors  House 

"  Why  ? "  persisted  the  girl.  "  Why  ?  You 
must  tell  me." 

"Because,"  said  Ned  Trent— " because  it 
could  not  be  done.  Every  rifle  in  the  place 
is  known.  Because  you  would  be  found  out 
in  this,  and  I  do  not  know  what  your  punish 
ment  might  not  be." 

"  You  knew  this  before  ?  "  insisted  Virginia, 
stonily. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  why  did  you  change  your  mind  ?  " 

"  When  first  I  saw  you  by  the  gun,"  began 
Ned  Trent,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  was  a  des 
perate  man,  clutching  at  the  slightest  chance. 
The  thought  crossed  my  mind  then  that  I 
might  use  you.  Then  later  I  saw  that  I  had 
some  influence  over  you,  and  I  made  my 
plan.  But  last  night " 

"  Yes,  last  night  ?  "  urged  Virginia,  softly. 

"  Last  night  I  paced  the  island,  and  I  found 
[150] 


Chapter  Eleven 

out  many  things.     One  of  them  was  that  I 
could  not." 

"  Even  though  this  dreadful  journey " 

"  I  would  rather  take  my  chances." 

Again  there  was  silence  between  them. 

"  It  was  a  good  lie,"  then  said  Virginia, 
gently — "  a  noble  lie.  And  what  you  have 
told  me  to  comfort  me  about  my  father  has 
been  nobly  said.  And  I  believe  you,  for  I 
have  known  the  truth  about  your  fate."  He 
shut  his  lips  grimly.  "  Why — why  did  you 
come?"  she  cried,  passionately.  "Is  the 
trade  so  good,  are  your  needs  then  so  great, 
that  you  must  run  these  perils  ? " 

"  My  needs,"  he  replied.  "  No  ;  I  have 
enough." 

"  Then  why  ? "  she  insisted. 

"Because  that  old  charter  has  long  since 
expired,  and  now  this  country  is  as  free  for 
me  as  for  the  Company,"  he  explained.    "  We 
[151] 


Conjuror's  House 

are  in  a  civilized  century,  and  no  man  has  a 
right  to  tell  me  where  I  shall  or  shall  not  go. 
Does  the  Company  own  the  Indians  and  the 
creatures  of  the  woods  ?  "  Something  in  the 
tone  of  his  voice  brought  her  eyes  steadily 
to  his  for  a  moment. 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  she  asked  at  length. 

He  hesitated,  looked  away,  looked  back 
again. 

"No,  it  is  not,"  he  confessed,  in  a  low 
voice.  "It  is  a  thing  I  do  not  speak  of. 
My  father  was  a  servant  of  this  Company, 
a  good,  true  servant.  No  man  was  more 
honest,  more  zealous,  more  loyal." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Virginia,  softly. 

"But  in  some  way  that  he  never  knew 
himself  he  made  enemies  in  high  places. 
The  cowards  did  not  meet  him  man  to  man, 
and  so  he  never  knew  who  they  were.  If 
he  had,  he  would  have  killed  them.  But 
[152] 


Chapter  Eleven 

they  worked  against  him  always.  He  was 
given  hard  posts,  inadequate  supplies,  scant 
help,  and  then  he  was  held  to  account  for 
what  he  could  not  do.  Finally  he  left  the 
company  in  disgrace — undeserved  disgrace. 
He  became  a  Free  Trader  in  the  days  when 
to  become  a  Free  Trader  was  worse  than 
attacking  a  grizzly  with  cubs.  In  three 
years  he  was  killed.  But  when  I  grew  to  be 
a  man  " — he  clenched  his  teeth — "  by  God ! 
how  I  have  prayed  to  know  who  did  it."  He 
brooded  for  a  moment,  then  went  on.  ' '  Still, 
I  have  accomplished  something.  I  have 
traded  in  spite  of  your  factors  in  many  dis 
tricts.  One  summer  I  pushed  to  the  Copper 
mine  in  the  teeth  of  them,  and  traded  with 
the  Yellow  Knives  for  the  robes  of  the 
musk-ox.  And  they  knew  me  and  feared 
my  rivalry,  these  traders  of  the  Company. 
No  district  of  the  far  North  but  has  felt  the 
[153] 


Conjuror's  House 

influence  of  my  bartering.  The  traders  of  all 
districts — Fort  au  Liard,  Lapierre's  House, 
Fort  Rae,  lie  a  la  Crosse,  Portage  la  Loche, 
Lac  la  Biche,  Jasper's  House,  the  House  of 
the  Touchwood  Hills — all  these,  and  many 
more,  have  heard  of  Ned  Trent." 

"  Your  father — you  knew  him  well  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  remember  him — a  tall,  dark 
man,  with  a  smile  always  in  his  eyes  and  a 
laugh  on  his  lips.  I  was  brought  up  at  a 
school  in  Winnipeg  under  a  priest.  Two 
or  three  times  in  the  year  my  father  used  to 
appear  for  a  few  days.  I  remember  well  the 
last  time  I  saw  him.  I  was  about  thirteen 
years  old.  '  You  are  growing  to  be  a  man, 
said  he ;  '  next  year  we  will  go  out  on  the 
trail.'  I  never  saw  him  again." 

"  What  happened  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  was  just  killed,"  replied  Ned  Trent, 
bitterly. 

[154] 


Chapter  Eleven 

The  girl  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  with  an 
appealing  little  gesture. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  she. 

"  I  have  no  portrait  of  him,"  continued  the 
Free  Trader,  after  an  instant.  "  No  gift  from 
his  hands  ;  nothing  at  all  of  his  but  this." 

He  showed  her  an  ordinary  little  silver 
match-safe  such  as  men  use  in  the  North 
country. 

"  They  brought  that  to  me  at  the  last — the 
Indians  who  came  to  tell  my  priest  the  news  ; 
and  the  priest,  who  was  a  good  man,  gave  it 
to  me.  I  have  carried  it  ever  since." 

Virginia  took  it  reverently.  To  her  it  had 
all  the  largeness  that  envelops  the  symbol 
of  a  great  passion.  After  a  moment  she 
looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Why!  "  she  exclaimed,  " this  has  a  name 
carved  on  it !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

[155] 


Conjuror's  House 

"  But  the  name  is  Graehme  Stewart. " 
"  Of  course  I  could  not  bear  my  father's 
name  in  a  country  where  it  was  well  known,'* 
he  explained. 

"  Of  course,"  she  agreed.  Impulsively  she 
raised  her  face  to  his,  her  eyes  shining.  "  To 
me  all  this  is  very  fine,"  said  she 

He  smiled  a  little  sadly.  "  At  least  you 
know  why  I  came." 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  I  know  why  you 
came.     But  you  are  in  trouble." 
"  The  chances  of  war." 
"  And  they  have  defeated  you  after  all.** 
"  I  shall  start  on  la  Longue  Traverse  sing 
ing   'Rouli  roulant.'     It's   a   small   defeat, 
that." 

"  Listen,"   said   she,   rapidly.      "  When   I 

was  quite  a  small  girl    Mr.   McTavish,  of 

Rupert's  House,  gave  me  a  little  rifle.     I 

have  never  used  it,  because  I  do  not  care  to 

[156] 


Chapter  Eleven 

shoot.  That  rifle  has  never  been  counted, 
and  my  father  has  long  since  forgotten  all 
about  it.  You  must  take  that,  and  escape 
to-night.  I  will  let  you  have  it  on  one  con 
dition — that  you  give  me  your  solemn  prom 
ise  never  to  venture  into  this  country  again." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  without  enthusiasm  nor 
surprise. 

She  smiled  happily  at  his  gloomy  face  and 
listless  attitude. 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  give  up  the  lit 
tle  rifle  entirely,"  she  went  on,  with  dainty 
preciosity,  watching  him  closely.  "As  I 
said,  it  was  a  present,  given  to  me  when  I 
was  quite  a  small  girl.  You  must  return  it 
to  me  at  Quebec,  in  August.  Will  you 
promise  to  do  that  ?  " 

He  wheeled  on  her  swift  as  light,  the 
eagerness  flashing  back  into  his  face. 

"  You  are  going  to  Quebec  ?  "  he  cried. 
[157] 


Conjurors  House 

"  My  father  wishes  me  to.  I  have  decided 
to  do  so.  I  shall  start  with  the  Abitibi 
brigade  in  July." 

He  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  I  promise  !  "  he  exulted,  "  I  promise ! 
To-night,  then !  Bring  the  rifle  and  the 
cartridges,  and  some  matches,  and  a  little 
salt.  You  must  take  me  across  the  river  in 
a  canoe,  for  I  want  them  to  guess  at  where 
I  strike  the  woods.  I  shall  cover  my  trail. 
And  with  ten  hours'  start,  let  them  catch 
Ned  Trent  who  can!" 

She  laughed  happily. 

"  To-night,  then.  At  the  south  of  the  isl 
and  there  is  a  trail,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
trail  a  beach " 

"  I  know!  "  he  cried. 

"  Meet  me  there  as  soon  after  dark  as  you 
can  do  so  without  danger." 

He  threw  his  hat  into  the  air  and  caught 
[158] 


Chapter  Eleven 

it,  his  face  boyishly  upturned.  Again  that 
something,  so  vaguely  familiar,  plucked  at 
her  with  its  ghostly,  appealing  fingers.  She 
turned  swiftly,  and  seized  them,  and  so 
found  herself  in  possession  of  a  memory  out 
of  her  far-off  childhood. 

"  I  know  you !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  seen 
you  before  this  !  " 

He  bent  his  puzzled  gaze  upon  her. 

"  I  was  a  very  little  girl,"  she  explained, 
"  and  you  but  a  lad.  It  was  at  a  party,  I 
think,  a  great  and  brilliant  party,  for  I  re 
member  many  beautiful  women  and  fine 
men.  You  held  me  up  in  your  arms  for 
people  to  see,  because  I  was  going  on  a 
long  journey." 

"  I  remember,  of  course  I  do ! "  he  ex 
claimed. 

A  bell   clanged,   turning  over   and   over, 
calling  the  Company's  men  to  their  day. 
[159] 


Conjurors  House 

"Farewell,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "To 
night." 

"  To-night,"  he  repeated. 

She  glided  rapidly  through  the  grass,  noise 
less  in  her  moccasined  feet.  And  as  she 
went  she  heard  his  voice  humming  soft  and 
low, 

"  Isabeau  s'y  promene 
Le  long  de  sonjardin, 
Le  long  de  sonjardin, 
Sur  le  lord  de  Vile, 
Le  long  de  sonjardin" 

"How  could  he  help  singing,"  murmured 
Virginia,  fondly.  "  Ah,  dear  Heaven,  but  I 
am  the  happiest  girl  alive  !  " 

Such  a  difference  can  one  night  bring 
about. 


[160] 


Chapter  Twelve 


The  day  rose  and  flooded  the  land  with  its 
fuller  life.  All  through  the  settlement  the 
Post  Indians  and  half-breeds  set  about  their 
tasks.  Some  aided  Sarnier  with  his  calk 
ing  of  the  bateaux;  some  worked  in  the 
fields ;  some  mended  or  constructed  in  the 
different  shops.  At  eight  o'clock  the  bell 
rang  again,  and  they  ate  breakfast.  Then  a 
group  of  seven,  armed  with  muzzle-loading 
"  trade-guns  "  bound  in  brass,  set  out  for  the 
marshes  in  hopes  of  geese.  For  the  flight 
was  arriving,  and  the  Hudson  Bay  man 
knows  very  well  the  flavor  of  goose-flesh, 
smoked,  salted,  and  barrelled. 
[161] 


Conjurors  House 

Now  the  voyageurs  began  to  stroll  into 
the  sun.  They  were  men  of  leisure.  Pict 
uresque,  handsome,  careless,  debonair,  they 
wandered  back  and  forth,  smoking  their  cigar 
ettes,  exhibiting  their  finery.  Indian  women, 
wrinkled  and  careworn,  plodded  patiently 
about  on  various  businesses.  Indian  girls, 
full  of  fun  and  mischief,  drifted  here  and 
there  in  arm-locked  groups  of  a  dozen, 
smiling,  whispering  among  themselves,  ready 
to  collapse  toward  a  common  centre  of  gig 
gles  if  addressed  by  one  of  the  numerous 
woods-dandies.  Indian  men  stalked  singly, 
indifferent,  stolid.  Indian  children  of  all 
sizes  and  degrees  of  nakedness  darted  back 
and  forth,  playing  strange  games.  The  sound 
of  many  voices  rose  across  the  air. 

Once  the  voices  moderated,  when  McDon 
ald,  the  Chief  Trader,  walked  rapidly  from 
the  barracks  building  to  the  trading  store  ; 
[162] 


Chapter  Twelve 

once  they  died  entirely  into  a  hush  of  re 
spect,  when  Galen  Albret  himself  appeared 
on  the  broad  veranda  of  the  factory.  He 
stood  for  a  moment — bulked  broad  and 
black  against  the  whitewash — his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  gazing  abstractedly  tow 
ard  the  distant  bay.  Then  he  turned  into 
the  house  to  some  mysterious  and  weighty 
business  of  his  own.  The  hubbub  at  once 
broke  out  again. 

Now  about  the  mouth  of  the  long  pick 
eted  lane  leading  to  the  massive  trading 
store  gathered  a  silent  group,  bearing  packs. 
These  were  Indians  from  the  more  immedi 
ate  vicinity,  desirous  of  trading  their  skins. 
After  a  moment  McDonald  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  a  hundred  feet  away,  and  raised 
his  hand.  Two  of  the  savages,  and  two 
only,  trotted  down  the  narrow  picket  lane, 
their  packs  on  their  shoulders. 
[163] 


Conjuror  s  House 

McDonald  ushered  them  into  a  big  square 
room,  where  the  bales  were  undone  and 
spread  abroad.  Deftly,  silently  the  Trader 
sorted  the  furs,  placing  to  one  side  or  the 
other  the  "  primes,"  "  seconds,"  and  "  thirds  " 
of  each  species.  For  a  moment  he  calcu 
lated.  Then  he  stepped  to  a  post  whereon 
hung  long  strings  of  pierced  wooden  count 
ers,  worn  smooth  by  use.  Swiftly  he  told 
the  strings  over.  To  one  of  the  Indians  he 
gave  one  with  these  words  : 

"  Mu-hi-kun,  my  brother,  here  be  pelts  to 
the  value  of  two  hundred  *  beaver.'  Behold 
a  string,  then,  of  two  hundred  '  castors, '  and 
in  addition  I  give  my  brother  one  fathom  of 
tobacco." 

The  Indian  calculated  rapidly,  his  eye  ab 
stracted.     He  had  known  exactly  the  value 
of  his   catch,  and  what   he  would  receive 
for  it  in  "castors,"  but   had  hoped  for  a 
[164] 


Chapter  Twelve 

larger  "  present,"  by  which  the  premium  on 
the  standard  price  is  measured. 

"Ah  hah," he  exclaimed,  finally, and  stepped 
to  one  side. 

"Sak-we-su,  my  brother,"  went  on  Mc 
Donald,  "  here  be  pelts  to  the  value  of  three 
hundred  '  beaver.'  Behold  a  string,  then,  of 
three  hundred  'castors,'  and  because  you 
have  brought  so  fine  a  skin  of  the  otter,  be 
hold  also  a  fathom  of  tobacco  and  a  half 
sack  of  flour." 

"  Good  ! "  ejaculated  the  Indian. 

The  Trader  then  led  them  to  stairs,  up  which 
they  clambered  to  where  Davis,  the  Assist 
ant  Trader,  kept  store.  There,  barred  by  a 
heavy  wooden  grill  from  the  airy  loft  filled 
with  bright  calicoes,  sashes,  pails,  guns, 
blankets,  clothes,  and  other  ornamental  and 
useful  things,  Sak-we-su  and  Mu-hi-kun 
made  their  choice,  trading  in  the  worn 
[165] 


Conjurors  House 

wooden  "  castors  "  on  the  string.  So  much 
flour,  so  much  tea,  so  much  sugar  and  pow 
der  and  lead,  so  much  in  clothing.  Thus 
were  their  simple  needs  supplied  for  the  year 
to  come.  Then  the  remainder  they  squan 
dered  on  all  sorts  of  useless  things — beads, 
silks,  sashes,  bright  handkerchiefs,  mirrors. 
And  when  the  last  wooden  "  castor  "  was  in 
they  went  down  stairs  and  out  the  picket 
lane,  carrying  their  lighter  purchases,  but 
leaving  the  larger  as  "  debt,"  to  be  called  for 
when  needed.  Two  of  their  companions 
mounted  the  stairs  as  they  descended ;  and 
two  more  passed  them  in  the  narrow  picket 
lane.  So  the  trade  went  on. 

At  once  Sak-we-su  and  Mu-hi-kun  were 
surrounded.  In  detail  they  told  what  they 
had  done.  Then  in  greater  detail  their 
friends  told  what  they  would  have  done, 
until  after  five  minutes  of  bewildering  ad- 
[166] 


Chapter  Twelve 

vice  the  disconsolate  pair  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  to  have  exchanged  everything 
— if  that  had  been  allowed. 

Now  the  bell  rang  again.  It  was  "  smoke 
time."  Everyone  quit  work  for  a  half-hour. 
The  sun  climbed  higher  in  the  heavens. 
The  laughing  crews  of  idlers  sprawled  in 
the  warmth,  gambling,  telling  stories,  sing 
ing.  Then  one  might  have  heard  all 
the  picturesque  songs  of  the  Far  North — 
"  A  la  claire  Fontaine  " ;  "  Ma  Boule  Rou- 
lant " ;  "  Par  derrier'  chez-mon  Pere  "  ;  "  Isa- 
beau  s'y  promene  "  ;  "  P'tite  Jeanneton  "  ; 
"  Luron,  Lurette  "  ;  "  Chante,  Rossignol, 
chante  "  ;  the  ever-popular  "Malbrouck "  ; 
"  C'est  la  belle  Francoise  ;  "  Alouette  " ;  or 
the  beautifiil  and  tender  "  La  Violette  Dan- 
dine."  They  had  good  voices,  these  voy- 
ageurs,  with  the  French  artistic  instinct, 
and  it  was  fine  to  hear  them. 
[167] 


Conjurors  House 

At  noon  the  squaws  set  out  to  gather  ca 
noe  gum  on  the  mainland.  They  sat  hud 
dled  in  the  bottom  of  their  old  and  leaky 
canoe,  reaching  far  over  the  sides  to  dip 
their  paddles,  irregularly  placed,  silent,  mys 
terious.  They  did  not  paddle  with  the  uni 
son  of  the  men,  but  each  jabbed  a  little 
short  stroke  as  the  time  suited  her,  so  that 
always  some  paddles  were  rising  and  some 
falling.  Into  the  distance  thus  they  flapped 
like  wounded  birds  ;  then  rounded  a  bend, 
and  were  gone. 

The  sun  swung  over  and  down  the  slope. 
Dinner  time  had  passed ;  "  smoke  time " 
had  come  again.  Squaws  brought  the  first 
white-fish  of  the  season  to  the  kitchen  door 
of  the  factory,  and  Matthews  raised  the 
hand  of  horror  at  the  price  they  asked.  Fi 
nally  he  bought  six  of  about  three  pounds 
each,  giving  in  exchange  tea  to  the  approxi- 
[168] 


Chapter  Twelve 

mate  value  of  twelve  cents.  The  Indian 
women  went  away,  secretly  pleased  over 
their  bargain. 

Down  by  the  Indian  camp  suddenly  broke 
the  roar  of  a  dog-fight.  Two  of  the  sledge 
giddes  had  come  to  teeth,  and  the  friends 
of  both  were  assisting  the  cause.  The 
idlers  went  to  see,  laughing,  shouting,  run 
ning  impromptu  races.  They  sat  on  their 
haunches  and  cheered  ironically,  and  made 
small  bets,  and  encouraged  the  frantic  old 
squaw  hags  who,  at  imminent  risk,  were 
trying  to  disintegrate  the  snarling,  rolling 
mass.  Over  in  the  high  log  stockade 
wherein  the  Company's  sledge  animals  were 
confined,  other  wolf-dogs  howled  mourn 
fully,  desolated  at  missing  the  fun. 

And   always   the   sun    swung  lower    and 
lower  toward  the  west,  until  finally  the  long 
northern  twilight  fell,  and   the  girl  in  the 
[169] 


Conjurors  House 

little  white  bedroom  at  the  factory  bathed 
her  face  and  whispered  for  the  hundredth 
time  to  her  beating  heart: 
' '  Night  has  come !  " 


[170] 


Chapter  Thirteen 


That  evening  at  dinner  Virginia  studied  her 
father's  face  again.  She  saw  the  square 
settled  line  of  the  jaw  under  the  beard,  the 
unwavering  frown  of  the  heavy  eyebrows, 
the  unblinking  purpose  of  the  cavernous, 
mysterious  eyes.  Never  had  she  felt  herself 
very  close  to  this  silent,  inscrutable  man, 
even  in  his  moments  of  more  affectionate 
expansion.  Now  a  gulf  divided  them. 

And  yet,  strangely  enough,  she  experi 
enced  no  revulsion,  no  horror,  no  recoil 
even.  He  had  merely  become  more  aloof, 
more  incomprehensible ;  his  purposes  vaster, 
less  susceptible  to  the  grasp  of  such  as  she. 
[171] 


Conjuror's  House 

There  may  have  been  some  basis  for  this 
feeling,  or  it  may  have  been  merely  the  re 
flex  glow  of  a  joy  that  made  all  other  things 
seem  insignificant. 

As  soon  as  might  be  after  the  meal  Vir 
ginia  slipped  away,  carrying  the  rifle,  the 
cartridges,  the  matches,  and  the  salt.  She 
was  cruelly  frightened. 

The  night  was  providentially  dark.  No 
aurora  threw  its  splendor  across  the  dome, 
and  only  a  few  rare  stars  peeped  between 
the  light  cirrus  clouds.  Virginia  left  be 
hind  her  the  buildings  of  the  Post,  she 
passed  in  safety  the  tin-steepled  chapel  and 
the  church  house ;  there  remained  only  the 
Indian  camp  between  her  and  the  woods 
trail.  At  once  the  dogs  began  to  bark  and 
howl,  the  fierce  giddes  lifting  their  pointed 
noses  to  the  sky.  The  girl  hurried  on, 
swinging  far  to  the  right  through  the  grass. 
[178] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

To  her  relief  the  camp  did  not  respond  to 
the  summons.  An  old  crone  or  so  appeared 
in  the  flap  of  a  teepee,  eyes  dazzled,  to 
throw  uselessly  a  billet  of  wood  or  a  vol 
ley  of  Cree  abuse  at  the  animals  nearest. 
In  a  moment  Virginia  entered  the  trail. 

Here  was  no  light  at  all.  She  had  to  pro 
ceed  warily,  feeling  with  her  moccasins  for 
the  beaten  pathway,  to  which  she  returned 
with  infinite  caution  whenever  she  trod  on 
grass  or  leaves.  Though  her  sight  was 
dulled,  her  hearing  was  not.  A  thousand 
scurrying  noises  swirled  about  her  ;  a  mul 
titude  of  squeaks,  whistles,  snorts,  and 
whines  attested  that  she  disturbed  the  forest 
creatures  at  their  varied  businesses ;  and 
underneath  spoke  an  apparent  dozen  of  ter 
rifying  voices  which  were  in  reality  only  the 
winds  and  the  trees.  Virginia  knew  that 
these  things  were  not  dangerous — that  day- 
[173] 


Conjuror's  House 

light  would  show  them  to  be  only  deer- 
mice,  hares,  weasels,  bats,  and  owls — never 
theless,  they  had  their  effect.  For  about 
her  was  cloying  velvet  blackness — not  the 
closed-in  blackness  of  a  room,  where  one 
feels  the  embrace  of  the  four  walls,  but  the 
blackness  of  infinite  space  through  which 
sweep  mysterious  currents  of  air.  After  a 
long  time  she  turned  sharp  to  the  left. 
After  a  long  time  more  she  perceived  a 
faint,  opalescent  glimmer  in  the  distance 
ahead.  This  she  knew  to  be  the  river. 

She  felt  her  way  onward,  still  cautiously ; 
then  she  choked  back  a  scream  and  dropped 
her  burden  with  a  clatter  to  the  ground.  A 
dark  figure  seemed  to  have  risen  myster 
iously  at  her  side. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you,"  said  Ned 
Trent,  in  guarded  tones.    "  I  heard  you  com 
ing.     I  thought  you  could  hear  me." 
[174] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

He  picked  up  the  fallen  articles,  running 
his  hands  over  them  rapidly. 

"  Good,"  he  whispered.  "  I  got  some  moc 
casins  to-day — traded  a  few  things  I  had  in 
my  pockets  for  them.  I'm  fixed." 

"  Have  you  a  canoe  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes — here  on  the  beach." 

He  preceded  her  down  the  few  remaining 
yards  of  the  trail.  She  followed,  already 
desolated  at  the  thought  of  parting,  for  the 
wilderness  was  very  big.  The  bulk  of  the 
man  partly  blotted  out  the  lucent  spot 
where  the  river  was — now  his  arm,  now 
his  head,  now  the  breadth  of  his  shoul 
ders.  This  silhouette  of  him  was  dear  to 
her,  the  sound  of  his  movements,  the  faint 
stir  of  his  breathing  borne  to  her  on  the 
light  breeze.  Virginia's  tender  heart  al 
most  overflowed  with  longing  and  fear  for 
him. 

[175]- 


Conjuror's  House 

They  emerged  on  a  little  slope  and  at  once 
pushed  the  canoe  into  the  current. 

She  accepted  the  aid  of  his  hand  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  sank  to  her  place,  facing  him. 
He  spurned  lightly  the  shore,  and  so  they 
were  adrift. 

In  a  moment  they  seemed  to  be  floating 
on  a  vast  vapor  of  night,  infinitely  remote 
from  anywhere,  surrounded  by  the  silence 
that  might  have  been  before  the  world's 
beginning.  A  faint  splash  could  have  been 
a  muskrat  near  at  hand  or  a  caribou  far  away. 
The  paddle  rose  and  dipped  with  a  faint 
swish,  swish,  and  the  steersman's  twist  of  it 
was  taken  up  by  the  man's  strong  wrist  so 
it  did  not  click  against  the  gunwale;  the 
bow  of  the  craft  divided  the  waters  with 
a  murmuring  so  faint  as  to  seem  but  the 
echo  of  a  silence.  Neither  spoke.  Virginia 
watched  him,  her  heart  too  full  for  words ; 
[176] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

watched  the  full  swing  of  his  strong  shoul 
ders,  the  balance  of  his  body  at  the  hips,  the 
poise  of  his  head  against  the  dull  sky.  In  a 
moment  more  the  parting  would  have  to 
come.  She  dreaded  it,  and  yet  she  looked 
forward  to  it  with  a  hungry  joy.  Then  he 
would  say  what  she  had  seen  in  his  eyes  ; 
then  he  would  speak ;  then  she  would  hear 
the  words  that  should  comfort  her  in  the 
days  of  waiting.  For  a  woman  lives  much 
for  the  present,  and  the  moment's  word  is 
an  important  thing. 

The  man  swung  his  paddle  steadily,  throw 
ing  into  the  strokes  a  wanton  exuberance 
that  showed  how  high  his  spirits  ran. 
After  a  time,  when  they  were  well  out 
from  the  shore,  he  took  a  deep  breath  of 
delight. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  how  happy  I  am," 
he  exulted,  "  you  don't  know  !     To  be  free, 
[177] 


Conjurors  House 

to  play  the  game,  to  match  my  wits  against 
theirs— ah,  that  is  life  1 " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  go,"  she  murmured, 
"  very  sorry.  The  days  will  be  full  of  terror 
until  I  know  you  are  safe." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  I'll  get 
there,  and  I  shall  tell  it  all  to  you  at  Que 
bec — at  Quebec  in  August.  It  will  be  a 
brave  tale  !  You  will  be  there — surely  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  softly  ;  "I  will  be 
there — surely." 

"  Good !  Feel  the  wind  on  your  cheek  ? 
It  is  from  the  Southland,  where  I  am  going. 
I  have  ventured — and  I  have  not  lost !  It 
is  something  not  to  lose,  when  one  has 
ventured  against  many.  They -have  my 
goods — but  I " 

"You? "  repeated  Virginia,  as  he  hesitated. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  go  back  empty-handed  ! "  he 
cried.     Her  heart  stood  still,  then  leaped  in 
[178] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

anticipation  of  what  he  would  say.  Her  soul 
hungered  for  the  words,  the  words  that  should 
not  only  comfort  her,  but  should  be  to  her 
the  excuse  for  many  things.  She  saw  him — 
shadowy,  graceful  against  the  dim  gray  of 
the  river  and  sky — lean  ever  so  slightly  tow 
ard  her.  But  then  he  straightened  again 
to  his  paddle,  and  contented  himself  with 
repeating  merely  :  "  Quebec — in  August, 
then." 

The  canoe  grated.  Ned  Trent  with  an  ex 
clamation  drove  his  paddle  into  the  clay. 

"  Lucky  the  bottom  is  soft  here,"  said  he  ; 
"  I  did  not  realize  we  were  so  close  ashore." 

He  drew  the  canoe  up  on  the  shelving 
beach,  helped  Virginia  out,  took  his  rifle, 
and  so  stood  ready  to  depart. 

"  Leave  the  canoe  just  where  we  got  in," 
he  advised  ;  "it  is  around   the  point,  you 
see,  and  that  may  fool  them  a  little." 
[179] 


Conjurors  House 

"  You  are  going,"  she  said,  dully.  Then  she 
came  close  to  him  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  her  wonderful  eyes.  "  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  said  he. 

Was  this  to  be  all  ?  Had  he  nothing  more 
to  tell  her?  Was  the  word  to  lack,  the 
word  she  needed  so  much  ?  She  had  given 
herself  unreservedly  into  this  man's  hands, 
and  at  parting  he  had  no  more  to  say  to 
her  than  "  Good-by."  Virginia's  eyes  were 
tearful,  but  she  would  not  let  him  know 
that.  She  felt  that  her  heart  would  break. 

"Well,  good-by,"  he  said  again  after  a 
moment,  which  he  had  spent  inspecting  the 
heavens.  "  Ah,  you  don't  know  what  it  is 
to  be  free  !  By  to-morrow  morning  I  shall 
be  half-way  to  the  Mattagami.  I  can 
hardly  wait  to  see  it,  for  then  I  am  safe! 
And  then  next  day — why,  next  day  they 
won't  know  which  of  a  dozen  ways  I've 
[180] 


Chapter  Thirteen 

gone  ! "     He  was  full  of  the  future,  man- 
fashion. 

He  took  her  hands,  leaned  over,  and  light 
ly  kissed  her  on  the  mouth.  Instantly  Vir 
ginia  became  wildly  and  unreasonably  angry. 
She  could  not  have  told  herself  why,  but  it 
was  the  lack  of  the  word  she  had  wanted  so 
much,  the  pain  of  feeling  that  he  could  go 
like  that,  the  thwarted  bitterness  of  a  long 
ing  that  had  grown  stronger  than  she  had 
even  yet  realized. 

Instinctively  she  leaped  into  the  canoe, 
sending  it  spinning  from  the  bank. 

"  Ah,  you  had  no  right  to  do  that !  "  she 
cried.  "  I  gave  you  no  right !  " 

Then,  heedless  of  what  he  was  saying,  she 
began  to  paddle  straight  from  the  shore, 
weeping  bitterly,  her  face  upraised,  her  hair 
in  her  eyes,  and  the  tears  coursing  unheeded 
down  her  cheeks. 

[181] 


Chapter  Fourteen 


Slower  and  slower  her  paddle  dipped,  lower 
and  lower  hung  her  head,  faster  and  faster 
flowed  her  tears.  The  instinctive  recoil,  the 
passionate  resentment  had  gone.  In  the 
bitterness  of  her  spirit  she  knew  not  what 
she  thought  except  that  she  would  give  her 
soul  to  see  him  again,  to  feel  the  touch  of 
his  lips  once  more.  For  she  could  not  make 
herself  believe  that  this,  would  ever  come  to 
pass.  He  had  gone  like  a  phantom,  like  a 
dream,  and  the  mists  of  life  had  closed  about 
him,  showing  no  sign.  He  had  vanished, 
and  at  once  she  seemed  to  know  that  the 
episode  was  finished. 

[182] 


Chapter  Fourteen 

The  canoe  whispered  against  the  soft  clay 
bottom.  She  had  arrived,  though  how  the 
crossing  had  been  made  she  could  not  have 
told.  Slowly  and  sorrowfully  she  disem 
barked.  Languidly  she  drew  the  light  craft 
beyond  the  stream's  eager  fingers.  Then, 
her  forces  at  an  end,  she  huddled  down  on 
the  ground  and  gave  herself  up  to  sorrow. 

The  life  of  the  forest  went  on  as  though 
she  were  not  there.  A  big  owl  far  off  said 
hurriedly  his  whoo-whoo-whoo,  as  though  he 
had  the  message  to  deliver  and  wanted  to 
finish  the  task.  A  smaller  owl  near  at  hand 
cried  ko-ko-ko-oh  with  the  intonation  of  a 
tin  horn.  Across  the  river  a  lynx  screamed, 
and  was  answered  at  once  by  the  ululations 
of  wolves.  On  the  island  the  giddes  howled 
defiance.  Then  from  above,  clear,  spiritual, 
floated  the  whistle  of  shore  birds  arriving 
from  the  south.  Close  by  sounded  a  rustle 
[183] 


Conjurors  House 

of  leaves,  a  sharp  squeak ;  a  tragedy  had 
been  consummated,  and  the  fierce  little 
mink  stared  malevolently  across  the  body 
of  his  victim  at  the  motionless  figure  on  the 
beach. 

Virginia,  drowned  in  grief,  knew  of  none 
of  these  things.  She  was  seeing  again  the 
clear  brown  face  of  the  stranger,  his  curly 
brown  hair,  his  steel  eyes,  and  the  swing  of 
his  graceful  figure.  Now  he  fronted  the 
wondering  voyageurs,  one  foot  raised  against 
the  bow  of  the  brigade  canoe ;  now  he  stood 
straight  and  tall  against  the  light  of  the  sit 
ting-room  door;  now  he  emptied  the  vials 
of  his  wrath  and  contempt  on  Archibald 
Crane's  reverend  head;  now  he  passed  in 
the  darkness,  singing  gayly  the  chanson  de 
canot.  But  more  fondly  she  saw  him  as  he 
swept  his  hat  to  the  ground  on  discovering 
her  by  the  guns,  as  he  bent  his  impassioned 
[184] 


Chapter  Fourteen 

eyes  on  her  in  the  dim  lamplight  of  their 
first  interview,  as  he  tossed  his  hat  aloft  in 
the  air  when  he  had  understood  that  she 
would  be  in  Quebec.  She  hugged  the  visions 
to  her,  and  wept  over  them  softly,  for  she 
was  now  sure  she  would  never  see  him 
again. 

And  she  heard  his  voice,  now  laughing, 
now  scornful,  now  mocking,  now  indignant, 
now  rich  and  solemn  with  feeling.  He 
flouted  the  people,  he  turned  the  shafts  of 
his  irony  on  her  father,  he  scathed  the  min 
ister,  he  laughed  at  Louis  Placide  awakened 
from  his  sleep,  he  sang,  he  told  her  of  the 
land  of  desolation,  he  pleaded.  She  could 
hear  him  calling  her  name — although  he  had 
never  spoken  it — in  low,  tender  tones,  "  Vir 
ginia  !  Virginia !  "  over  and  over  again  softly, 
as  though  his  soul  were  crying  through  his 
lips. 

[185] 


Conjurors  House 

Then  somehow,  in  a  manner  not  to  be 
comprehended,  it  was  borne  in  on  her  con 
sciousness  that  he  was  indeed  near  her,  and 
that  he  was  indeed  calling  her  name.  And 
at  once  she  made  him  out,  standing  dripping 
on  the  beach.  A  moment  later  she  was  in 
his  arms. 

"  Ah ! "  he  cried,  in  gladness  ;  "  you  are 
here!" 

He  crushed  her  hungrily  to  him,  unmind 
ful  of  his  wet  clothes,  kissing  her  eyes,  her 
cheeks,  her  lips,  her  chin,  even  the  fragrant 
corner  of  her  throat  exposed  by  the  collar  of 
her  gown.  She  did  not  struggle. 

"  Oh ! "  she  murmured,  "  my  dear,  my 
dear !  Why  did  you  come  back  ?  Why 
did  you  come  ? " 

"  Why  did  I  come  ? "  he  repeated,  passion 
ately.     "  Why  did  I  come  ?     Can  you  ask 
that  ?     How  could  I  help  but  come  ?     You 
[186] 


Chapter  Fourteen 

must  have  known  I  would  come.  Surely 
you  must  have  known  !  Didn't  you  hear 
me  calling  you  when  you  paddled  away  ?  I 
came  to  get  the  right.  I  came  to  get  your 
promise,  your  kisses,  to  hear  you  say  the 
word,  to  get  you !  I  thought  you  under 
stood.  It  was  all  so  clear  to  me.  I  thought 
you  knew.  That  was  why  I  was  so  glad  to 
go,  so  eager  to  get  away  that  I  could  not 
even  realize  I  was  parting  from  you — so  I 
could  the  sooner  reach  Quebec — reach  you  ! 
Don't  you  see  how  I  felt  ?  All  this  present 
was  merely  something  to  get  over,  to  pass 
by,  to  put  behind  us  until  I  got  to  Quebec 
in  August — and  you.  I  looked  forward  so 
eagerly  to  that,  I  was  so  anxious  to  get 
away,  I  was  desirous  of  hastening  on  to  the 
time  when  things  could  be  sure!  Don't 
you  understand  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  replied  the  girl,  softly. 
[187] 


Conjurors  House 

"And  I  thought  of  course  you  knew.  I 
should  not  have  kissed  you  otherwise." 

' '  How  could  I  know  ?  "  she  sighed.  "  You 
said  nothing,  and,  oh  !  I  wanted  so  to  hear ! " 

And  singularly  enough  he  said  nothing 
now,  but  they  stood  facing  each  other  hand 
in  hand,  while  the  great  vibrant  life  they 
were  now  touching  so  closely  filled  their 
hearts  and  eyes,  and  left  them  faint.  So 
they  stood  for  hours  or  for  seconds,  they 
could  not  tell,  spirit-hushed,  ecstatic.  The 
girl  realized  that  they  must  part. 

"  You  must  go,"  she  whispered  brokenly, 
at  last.  "  I  do  not  want  you  to,  but  you 
must." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  with  trembling  lips 
that  whispered  to  her  soul  that  she  must  be 
brave. 

"  Now  go,"  she  nerved  herself  to  say,  re 
leasing  her  hands. 

[188] 


She  smiled  up  at  him  with  trembling  lips  that  whispered 
to  her  soul  that  she  must  be  brace. 


Chapter  Fourteen 

"  Tell  me,"  he  commanded. 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  I  most  want  to  hear." 

"  I  can  tell  you  many  things,"  said  she,  so 
berly,  "  but  I  do  not  know  which  of  them 
you  want  to  hear.  Ah,  Ned,  I  can  tell  you 
that  you  have  come  into  a  girl's  life  to 
make  her  very  happy  and  very  much  afraid. 
And  that  is  a  solemn  thing ;  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

"  And  I  can  tell  you  that  this  can  never 
be  undone.  That  is  a  solemn  thing,  too,  is 
it  not  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

"  And  that,  according  as  you  treat  her,  this 
girl  will  believe  or  not  believe  in  the  good 
ness  of  all  men  or  the  badness  of  all  men. 
Ah,  Ned,  a  woman's  heart  is  fragile,  and 
mine  is  in  your  keeping." 

Her  face  was  raised  bravely  and  steadily  to 
[189] 


Conjurors  House 

his.  In  the  starlight  it  shone  white  and 
pathetic.  And  her  eyes  were  two  liquid 
wells  of  darkness  in  the  shadow,  and  her 
half-parted  lips  were  wistful  and  childlike. 

The  man  caught  both  her  hands,  again 
looking  down  on  her.  Then  he  answered 
her,  solemnly  and  humbly. 

"  Virginia,"  said  he,  "  I  am  setting  out  on 
a  perilous  journey.  As  I  deal  with  you, 
may  God  deal  with  me." 

"  Ah,  that  is  as  I  like  you,"  she  breathed. 

"  Good-by,"  said  he. 

She  raised  her  lips  of  her  own  accord,  and 
he  kissed  them  reverently. 

"  Good-by,"  she  murmured. 

He  turned  away  with  an  effort  and  ran 
down  the  beach  to  the  canoe. 

"  Good-by,  good-by,"  she  murmured,  un 
der  her  breath.     "  Ah,    good-by !     I   love 
you !     Oh,  I  do  love  you !  " 
[190] 


Chapter  Fourteen 

Then  suddenly  from  the  bushes  leaped 
dark  figures.  The  still  night  was  broken  by 
the  sound  of  a  violent  scuffle — blows — a 
fall.  She  heard  Ned  Trent's  voice  calling 
to  her  from  the  melee. 

"  Go  back  at  once ! "  he  commanded, 
clearly  and  steadily.  "You  can  do  no 
good.  I  order  you  to  go  home  before  they 
search  the  woods." 

But  she  crouched  in  dazed  terror,  her  pu 
pils  wide  to  the  dim  light.  She  saw  them 
bind  him,  and  stand  waiting ;  she  saw  a 
canoe  glide  out  of  the  darkness  ;  she  saw 
the  occupants  of  the  canoe  disembark  ;  she 
saw  them  exhibit  her  little  rifle,  and  heard 
them  explain  in  Cree,  that  they  had  fol 
lowed  the  man  swimming.  Then  she  knew 
that  the  cause  was  lost,  and  fled  as  swiftly 
as  she  could  through  the  forest. 

[191] 


Chapter  Fifteen 


Galen  Albret  had  chosen  to  interrogate  his 
recaptured  prisoner  alone.  He  sat  again  in 
the  arm-chair  of  the  Council  Room.  The 
place  was  flooded  with  sun.  It  touched  the 
high-lights  of  the  time-darkened,  rough  fur 
niture,  it  picked  out  the  brasses,  it  glorified 
the  whitewashed  walls.  In  its  uncompro 
mising  illumination  Me-en-gan,  the  bows- 
man,  standing  straight  and  tall  and  silent 
by  the  door,  studied  his  master's  face  and 
knew  him  to  be  deeply  angered. 

For   Galen  Albret   was   at  this  moment 
called  upon  to  deal  with  a  problem  more 
subtle  than  any  with  which  his  policy  had 
[192] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

been  puzzled  in  thirty  years.  It  was  bad 
enough  that,  in  repeated  defiance  of  his  au 
thority,  this  stranger  should  persist  in  his 
attempt  to  break  the  Company's  monopoly; 
it  was  bad  enough  that  he  had,  when  capt 
ured,  borne  himself  with  so  impudent  an  air 
of  assurance ;  it  was  bad  enough  that  he 
should  have  made  open  love  to  the  Factor's 
daughter,  should  have  laughed  scornfully 
in  the  Factor's  very  face.  But  now  the 
case  had  become  grave.  In  some  mysteri 
ous  manner  he  had  succeeded  in  corrupting 
one  of  the  Company's  servants.  Treach 
ery  was  therefore  to  be  dealt  with. 

Some  facts  Galen  Albret  had  well  in  hand. 
Others  eluded  him  persistently.  He  had, 
of  course,  known  promptly  enough  of  the 
disappearance  of  a  canoe,  and  had  thereupon 
dispatched  his  Indians  to  the  recapture. 
The  Reverend  Archibald  Crane  had  report- 
[193] 


Conjurors  House 

ed  that  two  figures  had  been  seen  in  the  act 
of  leaving  camp,  one  by  the  river,  the  other 
by  the  Woods  Trail.  But  here  the  Fac 
tor's  investigations  encountered  a  check. 
The  rifle  brought  in  by  his  Indians,  to 
his  bewilderment,  he  recognized  not  at  all. 
His  repeated  cross-questionings,  when  they 
touched  on  the  question  of  Ned  Trent's 
companion,  got  no  farther  than  the  Cree 
wooden  stolidity.  No,  they  had  seen  no 
one,  neither  presence,  sign,  nor  trail.  But 
Galen  Albret,  versed  in  the  psychology  of 
his  savage  allies,  knew  they  lied.  He  sus 
pected  them  of  clan  loyalty  to  one  of  their 
own  number ;  and  yet  they  had  never  failed 
him  before.  Now,  his  heavy  revolver  at 
his  right  hand,  he  interviewed  Ned  Trent, 
alone,  except  for  the  Indian  by  the  portal. 

As  with  the  Indians,  his  cross-examination 
had  borne  scant  results.     The  best  of  his 
[194] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

questions  but  involved  him  in  a  maze  of 
baffling  surmises.  Gradually  his  anger  had 
mounted,  until  now  the  Indian  at  the  door 
knew  by  the  wax-like  appearance  of  the 
more  prominent  places  on  his  deeply  carved 
countenance  that  he  had  nearly  reached  the 
point  of  outbreak. 

Swiftly,  like  the  play  of  rapiers,  the  ques 
tions  and  answers  broke  across  the  still 
room. 

"  You  had  aid,"  the  Factor  asserted,  posi 
tively. 

6 <  You  think  so?" 

"  My  Indians  say  you  were  alone.  But 
where  did  you  get  this  rifle  ? " 

"  I  stole  it." 

"  You  were  alone  ?  " 

Ned  Trent  paused  for  a  barely  appreciable 
instant.     It  was  not  possible  that  the  Ind 
ians  had  failed  to  establish  the  girl's  pres- 
[195] 


Conjuror  s  House 

ence,  and  he  feared  a  trap.  Then  he  caught 
the  expressive  eye  of  Me-en-gan  at  the  door. 
Evidently  Virginia  had  friends. 

"  I  was  alone,"  he  repeated,  confidently. 

"  That  is  a  lie.  For  though  my  Indians 
were  deceived,  two  people  were  observed  by 
my  clergyman  to  leave  the  Post  immediately 
before  I  sent  out  to  your  capture.  One 
rounded  the  island  in  a  canoe;  the  other 
took  the  Woods  Trail." 

"  Bully  for  the  Church,"  replied  Trent,  im- 
perturbably.  "  Better  promote  him  to  your 
scouts." 

"  Who  was  that  second  person  ? " 

"  Do  you  think  I  will  tell  you  ? " 

"  I  think  I'll  find  means  to  make  you  tell 
me  ! "  burst  out  the  Factor. 

Ned  Trent  was  silent. 

"  If  you'll  tell  me  the  name  of  that  man 

I'll  let  you  go  free.     I'll  give  you  a  permit 

[196] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

to  trade  in  the  country.  It  touches  my  au 
thority — my  discipline.  The  affair  becomes 
a  precedent.  It  is  vital." 

Ned  Trent  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  bay  and 
hummed  a  little  air,  half  turning  his  shoul 
der  to  the  older  man. 

The  latter's  face  blazed  with  suppressed 
fury.  Twice  his  hand  rested  almost  con 
vulsively  on  the  butt  of  his  heavy  revolver. 

"  Ned  Trent,"  he  cried,  harshly,  at  last, 
"  pay  attention  to  me.  I've  had  enough  of 
this.  I  swear  if  you  do  not  tell  me  what  I 
want  to  know  within  five  minutes,  I'll  hang 
you  to-day ! " 

The  young  man  spun  on  his  heel. 

"  Hanging !  "  he  cried.  "  You  cannot  mean 
that?" 

The  Free  Trader  measured   him   up   and 
down,  saw  that  his  purpose  was  sincere,  and 
turned  slowly  pale  under  the  bronze  of  his 
[197] 


Conjuror  s  House 

out-of-door  tan.  Hanging  is  always  a  dread 
ful  death,  but  in  the  Far  North  it  carries  an 
extra  stigma  of  ignominy  with  it,  inasmuch 
as  it  is  resorted  to  only  with  the  basest 
malefactors.  Shooting  is  the  usual  form  of 
execution  for  all  but  the  most  despicable 
crimes.  He  turned  away  with  a  little 
gesture. 

"  Well!"  cried  Albret. 

Ned  Trent  locked  his  lips  in  a  purposeful 
straight  line  of  silence.  To  such  an  outrage 
there  could  be  nothing  to  say.  The  Factor 
jerked  his  watch  to  the  table. 

"  I  said  five  minutes,"  he  repeated.  "  I 
mean  it." 

The  young  man  leaned  against  the  side  of 
the  window,  his  arms  folded,  his  back  to  the 
room.  Outside,  the  varied  life  of  the  Post 
went  forward  under  his  eyes.  He  even 
noted  with  a  surface  interest  the  fact  that 
[198] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

out  across  the  river  a  loon  was  floating,  and 
remarked  that  never  before  had  he  seen  one 
of  those  birds  so  far  north.  Galen  Albret 
struck  the  table  with  the  flat  of  his  hand. 

"  Done ! "  he  cried.  "  This  is  the  last  chance 
I  shall  give  you.  Speak  at  this  instant  or 
accept  the  consequences  ! " 

Ned  Trent  turned  sharply,  as  though  break 
ing  a  thread  that  bound  him  to  the  distant 
prospect  beyond  the  window.  For  an  in 
stant  he  stared  enigmatically  at  his  opponent. 
Then  in  the  sweetest  tones, 

"  Oh,  go  to  the  devil ! "  said  he,  and  began 
to  walk  deliberately  toward  the  older  man. 

There  lay  between  the  window  and  the 
head  of  the  table  perhaps  a  dozen  ordinary 
steps,  for  the  room  was  large.  The  young 
man  took  them  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  with 
burning  intensity  on  the  seated  figure,  the 
muscles  of  his  locomotion  contracting  and 
[199] 


Conjurors  House 

relaxing  with  the  smooth,  stealthy  continuity 
of  a  cat.  Galen  Albret  again  laid  hand  on 
his  revolver. 

"  Come  no  nearer,"  he  commanded. 

Me-en-gan  left  the  door  and  glided  along 
the  wall.  But  the  table  intervened  between 
him  and  the  Free  Trader. 

The  latter  paid  no  attention  to  the  Factor's 
command.  Galen  Albret  suddenly  raised 
his  weapon  from  the  table. 

"  Stop,  or  I'll  fire  ! "  he  cried,  sharply. 

"  I  mean  just  that,"  said  Ned  Trent  between 
his  clenched  teeth. 

But  ten  feet  separated  the  two  men.  Galen 
Albret  levelled  the  revolver.  Ned  Trent, 
watchful,  prepared  to  spring.  Me-en-gan, 
near  the  foot  of  the  table,  gathered  himself 
for  attack. 

Then  suddenly  the  Free  Trader  relaxed  his 
muscles,  straightened  his  back,  and  returned 
[200] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

deliberately  to  the  window.  Facing  about 
in  astonishment  to  discover  the  reason  for 
this  sudden  change  of  decision,  the  other  two 
men  looked  into  the  face  of  Virginia  Albret, 
standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  other  room. 

"  Father  !  "  she  cried. 

"  You  must  go  back,"  said  Ned  Trent, 
speaking  clearly  and  collectedly,  in  the  hope 
of  imposing  his  will  on  her  obvious  excite 
ment.  "  This  is  not  an  affair  in  which  you 
should  interfere.  Galen  Albret,  send  her 
away." 

The  Factor  had  turned  squarely  in  his 
heavy  arm-chair  to  regard  the  girl,  a  frown 
on  his  brows. 

"  Virginia,"  he  commanded,  in  deliberate, 
stern  tones  of  authority,  "leave  the  room. 
You  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  case,  and 
I  do  not  desire  your  interference." 

Virginia  stepped  bravely  beyond  the  por- 
[201] 


Conjuror  s  House 

tals,  and  stopped.  Her  fingers  were  ner 
vously  interlocked,  her  lip  trembled,  in  her 
cheeks  the  color  came  and  went,  but  her 
eyes  met  her  father's,  unfaltering. 

"  I  have  more  to  do  with  it  than  you 
think,"  she  replied. 

Instantly  Ned  Trent  was  at  the  table.  "  I 
really  think  this  has  gone  far  enough,"  he 
interposed.  "  We  have  had  our  interview, 
and  come  to  a  decision.  Miss  Albret  must 
not  be  permitted  to  exaggerate  a  slight  senti 
ment  of  pity  into  an  interest  in  my  affairs. 
If  she  knew  that  such  a  demonstration  only 
made  it  worse  for  me  I  am  sure  she  would 
say  no  more."  He  looked  at  her  appealing- 
ly  across  the  Factor's  shoulder. 

Me-en-gan  was  already  holding  open  the 
door.  "You  come,"  he  smiled,  beseech 
ingly. 

But  the  Factor's  suspicions  were  aroused. 


/  have  more  to  do  with  it  than  you  think"  die  replied. 


Chapter  Fifteen 

"  There  is  something  in  this,"  he  decided. 
"  I  think  you  may  stay,  Virginia." 

"  You  are  right,"  broke  in  the  young  man, 
desperately.  "There  is  something  in  it. 
Miss  Albret  knows  who  gave  me  the  rifle, 
and  she  was  about  to  inform  you  of  his 
identity.  There  is  no  need  in  subjecting  her 
to  that  distasteful  ordeal.  I  am  now  ready 
to  confess  to  you.  I  beg  you  will  ask  her 
to  leave  the  room." 

Galen  Albret,  in  the  midst  of  these  warring 
intentions,  had  sunk  into  his  customary  im 
passive  calm.  The  light  had  died  from  his 
eyes,  the  expression  from  his  face,  the  energy 
from  his  body.  He  sat,  an  inert  mass,  void 
of  initiative,  his  intelligence  open  to  what 
might  be  brought  to  his  notice. 

"  Virginia,  this  is  true  ? "  his  heavy,  dead 
voice   rumbled  through   his  beard.     "  You 
know  who  aided  this  man  ?  " 
[203] 


Conjurors  House 

Ned  Trent  mutely  appealed  to  her;  her 
glance  answered  his. 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  replied. 

"Who?" 

"  I  did." 

A  dead  silence  fell  on  the  room.  Galen 
Albret's  expression  and  attitude  did  not 
change.  Through  dull,  lifeless  eyes,  from 
behind  the  heavy  mask  of  his  waxen  face 
and  white  beard,  he  looked  steadily  out 
upon  nothing.  Along  either  arm  of  the 
chair  stretched  his  own  arms  limp  and  heavy 
with  inertia.  In  suspense  the  other  three 
inmates  of  the  place  watched  him,  waiting 
for  some  change.  It  did  not  come.  Finally 
his  lips  moved. 

"  You  ?  "  he  muttered,  questioningly. 

"  I,"  she  repeated. 

Another  silence  fell. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 
[204] 


Chapter  Fifteen 

"  Because  it  was  an  unjust  thing.  Be 
cause  we  could  not  think  of  taking  a  life  in 
that  way,  without  some  reason  for  it." 

"Why?  "he  persisted,  taking  no  account 
of  her  reply. 

Virginia  let  her  gaze  slowly  rest  on  the 
Free  Trader,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  a  world 
of  tenderness  and  trust. 

"  Because  I  love  him,"  said  she,  softly. 


[205] 


Chapter  Sixteen 


After  an  instant  Galen  Albret  turned  slowly 
his  massive  head  and  looked  at  her.  He 
made  no  other  movement,  yet  she  staggered 
back  as  though  she  had  received  a  violent 
blow  on  the  chest. 

"  Father  ! "  she  gasped. 

Still  slowly,  gropingly,  he  arose  to  his  feet, 
holding  tight  to  the  edge  of  the  table. 
Behind  him  unheeded  the  rough-built  arm 
chair  crashed  to  the  floor.  He  stood  there 
upright  and  motionless,  looking  straight  be 
fore  him,  his  face  formidable.  At  first  his 
speech  was  disjointed.  The  words  came  in 
widely  punctuated  gasps.  Then,  as  the  wave 
[206] 


Chapter  Sixteen 

of  his  emotion  rolled  back  from  the  poise 
into  which  the  first  shock  of  anger  had 
thrown  it,  it  escaped  through  his  lips  in 
a  constantly  increasing  stream  of  bitter 
words. 

"You — you  love  him,"  he  cried.  "  You — 
my  daughter  !  You  have  been — a  traitor — 
to  me  !  You  have  dared — dared — deny  that 
which  my  whole  life  has  affirmed  !  My  own 
flesh  and  blood — when  I  thought  the  near 
est  metis  of  them  all  more  loyal  !  You  love 
this  man — this  man  who  has  insulted  me, 
mocked  me  !  You  have  taken  his  part 
against  me  !  You  have  deliberately  placed 
yourself  in  the  class  of  those  I  would  hang 
for  such  an  offence !  If  you  were  not  my 
daughter  I  would  hang  you.  Hang  my  own 
child  ! "  Suddenly  his  rage  flared.  "  You 
little  fool !  Do  you  dare  set  your  judgment 
against  mine  ?  Do  you  dare  interfere  where 
[207] 


Conjuror's  House 

I  think  well  ?  Do  you  dare  deny  my  will  ? 
By  the  eternal,  I'll  show  you,  old  as  you  are, 
that  you  have  still  a  father  !  Get  to  your 
room  !  Out  of  my  sight ! "  He  took  two 
steps  forward,  and  so  his  eye  fell  on  Ned 
Trent.  He  uttered  a  scream  of  rage,  and 
reached  for  the  pistol.  Fortunately  the  ab 
ruptness  of  his  movement  when  he  arose 
had  knocked  it  to  the  floor,  so  now  in  the 
blindness  of  a  red  anger  he  could  not  see  it. 
He  shrieked  out  an  epithet  and  jumped  for 
ward,  his  arm  drawn  to  strike.  Ned  Trent 
leaped  back  into  an  attitude  of  defence. 

All  three  of  those  present  had  many  times 
seen  Galen  Albret  possessed  by  his  noted 
fits  of  anger,  so  striking  in  contrast  to  his 
ordinary  contained  passivity.  But  always, 
though  evidently  in  a  white  heat  of  rage 
and  given  to  violent  action  and  decision,  he 
had  retained  the  clearest  command  of  his 
[208] 


Chapter  Sixteen 

faculties,  issuing  coherent  and  dreaded  orders 
to  those  about  him.  Now  he  had  become  a 
raging  wild  beast.  And  for  the  spectators 
the  sight  had  all  the  horror  of  the  unprece 
dented. 

But  the  younger  man,  too,  had  gradually 
heated  to  the  point  where  his  ordinary  care 
less  indifference  could  give  off  sparks.  The 
interview  had  been  baffling,  the  threats  real 
and  unjust,  the  turn  of  affairs  when  Vir 
ginia  Albret  entered  the  room  most  exasper 
ating  on  the  side  of  the  undesirable  and 
unforeseen.  In  foiled  escape,  in  thwarted 
expedient,  his  emotions  had  been  many 
times  excited,  and  then  eddied  back  on 
themselves.  The  potentialities  of  as  blind 
an  anger  as  that  of  Galen  Albret  were  in 
him.  It  only  needed  a  touch  to  loose  the 
flood.  The  physical  threat  of  a  blow  sup 
plied  that  touch.  As  the  two  men  faced 
[209] 


Conjuror  s  House 

each  other  both  were  ripe  for  the  extreme 
of  recklessness. 

But  while  Galen  Albret  looked  to  nothing 
less  than  murder,  the  Free- Trader's  indi 
vidual  genius  turned  to  dead  defiance  and 
resistance  of  will.  While  Galen  Albret 's 
countenance  reflected  the  height  of  passion, 
Trent  was  as  smiling  and  cool  and  debonair 
as  though  he  had  at  that  moment  received 
from  the  older  man  an  extraordinary  and 
particular  favor.  Only  his  eyes  shot  a  bale 
ful  blue  flame,  and  his  words,  calmly  enough 
delivered,  showed  the  extent  to  which  his 
passion  had  cast  policy  to  the  winds. 

' '  Don't  go  too  far !     I  warn  you !  "  said  he. 

As  though  the  words  had  projected  him 
bodily  forward,  Galen  Albret  sprang  to  de 
liver  his  blow.  The  Free  Trader  ducked 
rapidly,  threw  his  shoulder  across  the  middle 
of  the  older  man's  body,  and  by  the  very 
[210] 


Chapter  Sixteen 

superiority  of  his  position  forced  his  antag 
onist  to  give  ground.  That  the  struggle 
would  have  then  continued  body  to  body 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  fact  that  the  Factor's  retrogressive  move 
ment  brought  his  knees  sharply  against  the 
edge  of  a  chair  standing  near  the  side  of 
the  table.  Albret  lost  his  balance,  wavered, 
and  finally  sat  down  violently.  Ned  Trent 
promptly  pinned  him  by  the  shoulder  into 
powerless  immobility.  Me-en-gan  had  pos 
sessed  himself  of  the  fallen  pistol,  but  be 
yond  keeping  a  generally  wary  eye  out  for 
dangerous  developments,  did  not  offer  to 
interfere.  Your  Indian  is  in  such  a  cri 
sis  a  disciplinarian,  and  he  had  received 
no  orders. 

"Now,"  said  Ned  Trent,  acidly,  "I  think 
this  will  stop  right  here.  You  do  not  cut  a 
very  good  figure,  my  dear  sir,"  he  laughed  a 


Conjurors  House 

little.  "  You  haven't  cut  a  very  good  figure 
from  the  beginning,  you  know.  You  for 
bade  me  to  do  various  things,  and  I  have 
done  them  all.  I  traded  with  your  Indians. 
I  came  and  went  in  your  country.  Do  you 
think  I  have  not  been  here  often  before  I 
was  caught  ?  And  you  forbade  me  to  see 
your  daughter  again.  I  saw  her  that  very 
evening,  and  the  next  morning  and  the  next 
evening." 

He  stood,  still  holding  Galen  Albret  im 
movably  in  the  chair,  looking  steadily  and 
angrily  into  the  Factor's  eyes,  driving  each 
word  home  with  the  weight  of  his  contained 
passion.  The  girl  touched  his  arm. 

"  Hush  !  oh,  hush ! "  she  cried  in  a  panic. 
"  Do  not  anger  him  further  ! " 

"  When  you  forbade  me  to  make  love  to 
her,"  he  continued,  unheeding,  "  I  laughed 
at  you."  With  a  sudden,  swift  motion  of 


Chapter  Sixteen 

his  left  arm  he  drew  her  to  him  and  touched 
her  forehead  with  his  lips.  "  Look !  Your 
commands  have  been  rather  ridiculous,  sir. 
I  seem  to  have  had  the  upper  hand  of  you 
from  first  to  last.  Incidentally  you  have  my 
life.  Oh,  welcome !  That  is  small  pay  and 
little  satisfaction." 

He  threw  himself  from  the  Factor  and 
stepped  back. 

Galen  Albret  sat  still  without  attempting 
to  renew  the  struggle.  The  enforced  few 
moments  of  inaction  had  restored  to  him 
his  self-control.  He  was  still  deeply  angered, 
but  the  insanity  of  rage  had  left  him.  Out 
wardly  he  was  himself  again.  Only  a  rapid 
heaving  of  his  chest  answered  Ned  Trent's 
quick  breathing,  as  the  two  men  glared  de 
fiantly  at  each  other  in  the  pause  that  fol 
lowed. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  Factor,  curtly,  at 
[213] 


Conjurors  House 

last.  "Your  time  is  over.  I  find  it  un 
necessary  to  hang  you.  You  will  start  on 
your  Longue  Traverse  to-day." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Virginia,  in  a  low  voice  of 
agony,  and  fluttered  to  her  lover's  side. 

"  Hush  !  hush ! "  he  soothed  her.  "  There 
is  a  chance." 

"  You  think  so  ? "  broke  in  Galen  Albret, 
harshly.  And  looking  at  his  set  face  and 
blazing  eyes,  they  saw  that  there  was  no 
chance.  The  Free  Trader  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  You  are  going  to  do  this  thing,  father," 
appealed  Virginia,  "  after  what  I  have  told 
you?* 

"  My  mind  is  made  up." 

66 1   shall  not   survive   him,   father!"  she 
threatened,  in  a  low  voice.     Then,  as  the 
Factor  did  not  respond,  ' '  Do  not  misunder 
stand  me.     I  do  not  intend  to  survive  him." 
[214] 


Chapter  Sixteen 

"  Silence  !  silence  !  silence  !  "  cried  Galen 
Albret,  in  a  crescendo  outburst.  "  Silence  ! 
I  will  not  be  gainsaid !  You  have  made 
your  choice  !  You  are  no  longer  a  daughter 
of  mine  ! " 

"  Father ! "  cried  Virginia,  faintly,  her  lips 
going  pale. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  !  Don't  look  at  me  ! 
Get  out  of  here !  Get  out  of  the  place  !  I 
won't  have  you  here  another  day — another 
hour  !  By " 

The  girl  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  ran 
to  him,  sinking  on  her  knees,  and  clasping 
his  hand. 

"  Father,"  she  pleaded,  "  you  are  not  your 
self.  This  has  been  very  trying  to  you. 
To-morrow  you  will  be  sorry.  But  then  it 
will  be  too  late.  Think,  while  there  is  yet 
time.  He  has  not  committed  a  crime.  You 
yourself  told  me  he  was  a  man  of  intelligence 
[215] 


Conjurors  House 

and  daring — a  gentleman ;  and  surely,  though 
he  has  been  hasty,  he  has  acted  with  a  brave 
spirit  through  it  all.  See,  he  will  promise 
you  to  go  away  quietly,  to  say  nothing  of 
all  this,  never  to  come  into  this  country 
again  without  your  permission.  He  will  do 
this  if  I  ask  him,  for  he  loves  me.  Look 
at  me,  father.  Are  you  going  to  treat  your 
little  girl  so — your  Virginia  ?  You  have 
never  refused  me  anything  before.  And 
this  is  the  greatest  thing  in  all  my  life." 
She  held  his  hand  to  her  cheek  and  stroked 
it,  murmuring  little  feminine,  caressing 
phrases,  secure  in  her  power  of  witchery, 
which  had  never  failed  her  before.  The 
sound  of  her  own  voice  reassured  her,  the 
quietude  of  the  man  she  pleaded  with.  A 
lifetime  of  petting,  of  indulgence,  threw  its 
soothing  influence  over  her  perturbation, 
convincing  her  that  somehow  all  this  storm 
[216] 


Chapter  Sixteen 

and  stress  must  be  phantasmagoric — a  dream 
from  which  she  was  even  now  awakening 
into  a  clearer  day  of  happiness.  "  For  you 
love  me,  father,"  she  concluded,  and  looked 
up  daintily,  with  a  pathetic,  coquettish  tilt 
of  her  fair  head,  to  peer  into  his  face. 

Galen  Albret  snarled  like  a  wild  beast, 
throwing  aside  the  girl,  as  he  did  the  chair 
in  which  he  had  been  sitting.  Ned  Trent 
caught  her,  reeling,  in  his  arms. 

For,  as  is  often  the  case  with  passionate 
but  strong  temperaments,  though  the  Factor 
had  attained  a  certain  calm  of  control,  the 
turmoil  of  his  deeper  anger  had  not  been  in 
the  least  stilled.  Over  it  a  crust  of  deter 
mination  had  formed — the  determination  to 
make  an  end  by  the  directest  means  in  his 
autocratic  power  of  this  galling  opposition. 
The  girl's  pleading,  instead  of  appealing  to 
him,  had  in  reality  but  stirred  his  fury  the 
[217] 


Conjuror  s  House 

more  profoundly.  It  had  added  a  new  fuel 
element  to  the  fire.  Heretofore  his  con 
sciousness  had  felt  merely  the  thwarting  of 
his  pride,  his  authority,  his  right  to  loyalty. 
Now  his  daughter's  entreaty  brought  home 
to  him  the  bitter  realization  that  he  had 
been  attained  on  another  side — that  of  his 
family  affection.  This  man  had  also  killed 
for  him  his  only  child.  For  the  child  had 
renounced  him,  had  thrust  him  outside  her 
self  into  the  lonely  and  ruined  temple  of 
his  pride.  At  the  first  thought  his  face 
twisted  with  emotion,  then  hardened  to  cold 
malice. 

"  Love  you  ! "  he  cried.  "  Love  you  !  An 
unnatural  child !  An  ingrate !  One  who 
turns  from  me  so  lightly!"  He  laughed 
bitterly,  eyeing  her  with  chilling  scrutiny. 
"  You  dare  recall  my  love  for  you  ! "  Sud 
denly  he  stood  upright,  levelling  a  heavy, 
[218] 


Chapter  Sixteen 

trembling  arm  at  her.     "  You  think  an  ap 
peal  to  my  love  will  save  him !     Fool ! " 

Virginia's  breath  caught  in  her  throat. 
She  straightened,  clutched  the  neckband  of 
her  gown.  Then  her  head  fell  slowly  for 
ward.  She  had  fainted  in  her  lover's  arms. 

They  stood  exactly  so  for  an  appreciable 
interval,  bewildered  by  the  suddenness  of 
this  outcome  ;  Galen  Albret's  hand  out 
stretched  in  denunciation  ;  the  girl  like  a 
broken  lily,  supported  in  the  young  man's 
arms  ;  he  searching  her  face  passionately  for 
a  sign  of  life  ;  Me-en-gan,  straight  and  sor 
rowful,  again  at  the  door. 

Then  the  old  man's  arm  dropped  slowly. 
His  gaze  wavered.  The  lines  of  his  face  re 
laxed.  Twice  he  made  an  effort  to  turn 
away.  All  at  once  his  stubborn  spirit 
broke ;  he  uttered  a  cry,  and  sprang  for 
ward  to  snatch  the  unconscious  form  hun- 
[219] 


Conjurors  House 

grily  into  his  bear  clasp,  searching  the  girl's 
face,  muttering  incoherent  things. 

"  Quick !  "  he  cried,  aloud,  the  guttural 
sounds  jostling  one  another  in  his  throat. 
"  Get  Wishkobun,  quick  !  " 

Ned  Trent  looked  at  him  with  steady 
scorn,  his  arms  folded. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  dropped  distinctly  in  deliberate 
monosyllables  across  the  surcharged  atmos 
phere  of  the  scene.  "  So  it  seems  you  have 
found  your  heart,  my  friend  !  " 

Galen  Albret  glared  wildly  at  him  over 
the  girl's  fair  head. 

"  She  is  my  daughter,"  he  mumbled. 


[220] 


Chapter  Seventeen 


They  carried  the  unconscious  girl  into  the 
dim-lighted  apartment  of  the  curtained 
windows,  and  laid  her  on  the  divan.  Wish- 
kobun,  hastily  summoned,  unfastened  the 
girl's  dress  at  the  throat. 

"  It  is  a  faint,"  she  announced  in  her  own 
tongue.  "  She  will  recover  in  a  few  min 
utes;  I  will  get  some  water." 

Ned  Trent  wiped  the  moisture  from  his 
forehead  with  his  handkerchief.  The  dan 
ger  he  had  undergone  coolly,  but  this  over 
came  his  iron  self-control.  Galen  Albret, 
like  an  anxious  bear,  weaved  back  and  forth 
the  length  of  the  couch.  In  him  the  rum- 

] 


Conjurors  House 

ble  of  the  storm  was  but  just  echoing  into 
distance. 

"  Go  into  the  next  room,"  he  growled  at 
the  Free  Trader,  when  finally  he  noticed 
the  latter's  presence. 

Ned  Trent  hesitated. 

"Go,  I  say !  "  snarled  the  Factor.  "You  can 
do  nothing  here."  He  followed  the  young 
man  to  the  door,  which  he  closed  with  his 
own  hand,  and  then  turned  back  to  the 
couch  on  which  his  daughter  lay.  In  the 
middle  of  the  floor  his  foot  clicked  on  some 
small  object.  Mechanically  he  picked  it  up. 

It  proved  to  be  a  little  silver  match-safe  of 
the  sort  universally  used  in  the  Far  North. 
Evidently  the  Free  Trader  had  flipped  it 
from  his  pocket  with  his  handkerchief. 
The  Factor  was  about  to  thrust  it  into  his 
own  pocket,  when  his  eye  caught  lettering 
roughly  carved  across  one  side.  Still  me- 


Chapter  Seventeen 

chanically,  he  examined  it  more  closely. 
The  lettering  was  that  of  a  man's  name. 
The  man's  name  was  Graehme  Stewart. 

Without  thinking  of  what  he  did,  he 
dropped  the  object  on  the  small  table,  and 
returned  anxiously  to  the  girl's  side,  cursing 
the  tardiness  of  the  Indian  woman.  But  in 
a  moment  Wishkobun  returned. 

"Will  she  recover?"  asked  the  Factor, 
distracted  at  the  woman's  deliberate  exam 
ination. 

The  latter  smiled  her  indulgent,  slow 
smile.  "  But  surely,"  she  assured  him  in 
her  own  tongue,  "it  is  no  more  than  if  she 
cut  her  finger.  In  a  few  breaths  she  will 
recover.  Now  I  will  go  to  the  house  of  the 
Cockburn  for  a  morsel  of  the  sweet  wood  * 
which  she  must  smell."  She  looked  her  in 
quiry  for  permission. 

*  Camphor. 


Conjuror's  House 
"  Sagaamig — go,"  assented  Albret 
Relieved  in  mind,  he  dropped  into  a  chair. 
His  eye  caught  the  little  silver  match-safe. 
He  picked  it  up  and  fell  to  staring  at  the 
rudely  carved  letters. 

He  found  that  he  was  alone  with  his 
daughter — and  the  thoughts  aroused  by  the 
dozen  letters  of  a  man's  name. 
All  his  life  long  he  had  been  a  hard  man. 
His  commands  had  been  autocratic;  his 
anger  formidable  ;  his  punishments  severe, 
and  sometimes  cruel.  The  quality  of  mercy 
was  with  him  tenuous  and  weak.  He  knew 
this,  and  if  he  did  not  exactly  glory  in  it,  he 
was  at  least  indifferent  to  its  effect  on  his 
reputation  with  others.  But  always  he  had 
been  just.  The  victims  of  his  displeasure 
might  complain  that  his  retributive  meas 
ures  were  harsh,  that  his  forgiveness  could 
not  be  evoked  by  even  the  most  extenuating 


Chapter  Seventeen 

of  circumstances,  but  not  that  his  anger  had 
ever  been  baseless  or  the  punishment  un 
deserved.  Thus  he  had  held  always  his  own 
self-respect,  and  from  his  self-respect  had 
proceeded  his  iron  and  effective  rule. 

So  in  the  case  of  the  young  man  with 
whom  now  his  thoughts  were  occupied. 
Twice  he  had  warned  him  from  the  country 
without  the  punishment  which  the  third 
attempt  rendered  imperative.  The  events 
succeeding  his  arrival  at  Conjuror's  House 
warmed  the  Factor's  anger  to  the  heat  of 
almost  preposterous  retribution  perhaps — 
for  after  all  a  man's  life  is  worth  something, 
even  in  the  wilds — but  it  was  actually  ret 
ribution,  and  not  merely  a  ruthless  proof 
of  power.  It  might  be  justice  as  only  the 
Factor  saw  it,  but  it  was  still  essentially 
justice — in  the  broader  sense  that  to  each 
act  had  followed  a  definite  consequence. 


Conjuror's  House 

Although  another  might  have  condemned 
his  conduct  as  unnecessarily  harsh,  Galen 
Albret's  conscience  was  satisfied  and  at 
rest. 

Nor  had  his  resolution  been  permanently 
affected  by  either  the  girl's  threat  to  make 
away  with  herself  or  by  his  momentary  soft 
ening  when  she  had  fainted.  The  affair  was 
thereby  complicated,  but  that  was  all.  In 
the  sincerity  of  the  threat  he  recognized  his 
own  iron  nature,  and  was  perhaps  a  little 
pleased  at  its  manifestation.  He  knew  she 
intended  to  fulfil  her  promise  not  to  survive 
her  lover,  but  at  the  moment  this  did  not 
reach  his  fears  ;  it  only  aroused  further  his 
dogged  opposition. 

The  Free  Trader's  speech  as  he  left  the 
room,  however,  had  touched  the  one  flaw  in 
Galen  Albret's  confidence  of  righteousness. 
Wearied  with  the  struggles  and  the  passions 


Chapter  Seventeen 

he  had  undergone,  his  brain  numbed,  his 
will  for  the  moment  in  abeyance,  he  seated 
himself  and  contemplated  the  images  those 
two  words  had  called  up. 

Graehme  Stewart !  That  man  he  had  first 
met  at  Fort  Rae  over  twenty  years  ago.  It 
was  but  just  after  he  had  married  Virgin 
ia's  mother.  At  once  his  imagination,  with 
the  keen  pictorial  power  of  those  who  have 
dwelt  long  in  the  Silent  Places,  brought 
forward  the  other  scene — that  of  his  woo 
ing.  He  had  driven  his  dogs  into  Fort  la 
Cloche  after  a  hard  day's  run  in  seventy-five 
degrees  of  frost.  Weary,  hungry,  half- 
frozen,  he  had  staggered  into  the  fire-lit 
room.  Against  the  blaze  he  had  caught  for 
a  moment  a  young  girl's  profile,  lost  as  she 
turned  her  face  toward  him  in  startled  ques 
tion  of  his  entrance.  Men  had  cared  for  his 
dogs.  The  girl  had  brought  him  hot  tea. 


Conjuror's  House 

In  the  corner  of  the  fire  they  two  had  whis 
pered  one  to  the  other — the  already  grizzled 
traveller  of  the  silent  land,  the  fresh,  brave 
north-maiden.  At  midnight,  their  parkas 
drawn  close  about  their  faces  in  the  fearful 
cold,  they  had  met  outside  the  inclosure  of 
the  Post.  An  hour  later  they  were  away 
under  the  aurora  for  Qu'Apelle.  Galen  Al- 
bret's  nostrils  expanded  as  he  heard  the 
crack,  crack,  crack  of  the  remorseless  dog- 
whip  whose  sting  drew  him  away  from 
the  vain  pursuit.  After  the  marriage  at 
Qu'Apelle  they  had  gone  a  weary  jour 
ney  to  Rae,  and  there  he  had  first  seen 
Graehme  Stewart. 

Fort  Rae  is  on  the  northwestward  arm 
of  the  Great  Slave  Lake  in  the  country  of 
the  Dog  Ribs,  only  four  degrees  under  the 
Arctic  Circle.  It  is  a  dreary  spot,  for  the 
Barren  Grounds  are  near.  Men  see  only 


Chapter  Seventeen 

the  great  lake,  the  great  sky,  the  great  gray 
country.  They  become  moody,  fanciful. 
In  the  face  of  the  silence  they  have  little  to 
say.  At  Fort  Kae  were  old  Jock  Wilson, 
the  Chief  Trader  ;  Father  Bonat,  the  priest ; 
Andrew  Levoy,  the  metis  clerk  ;  four  Dog 
Rib  teepees  ;  Galen  Albret  and  his  bride  ; 
and  Graehme  Stewart. 

Jock  Wilson  was  sixty-five  ;  Father  Bonat 
had  no  age  ;  Andrew  Levoy  possessed  the 
years  of  dour  silence.  Only  Graehme  Stew 
art  and  Elodie,  bride  of  Albret,  were  young. 
In  the  great  gray  country  their  lives  were 
like  spots  of  color  on  a  mist.  Galen  Albret 
finally  became  jealous. 

At  first  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  ; 
but  finally  Levoy  brought  to  the  older  man 
proof  of  the  younger's  guilt.  The  harsh 
traveller  bowed  his  head  and  wept.  But 
since  he  loved  Elodie  more  than  himself — 
[229] 


Conjuror  s  House 

which  was  perhaps  the  only  redeeming  feat 
ure  of  this  sorry  business — he  said  nothing, 
nor  did  more  than  to  journey  south  to 
Edmonton,  leaving  the  younger  man  alone 
in  Fort  Rae  to  the  White  Silence.  But 
his  soul  was  stirred. 

In  the  course  of  nature  and  of  time  Galen 
Albret  had  a  daughter,  but  lost  a  wife.  It 
was  no  longer  necessary  for  him  to  leave  his 
wrong  unavenged.  Then  began  a  series  of 
baffling  hind  ranees  which  resulted  finally  in 
his  stooping  to  means  repugnant  to  his  open 
sense  of  what  was  due  himself.  At  the  first 
he  could  not  travel  to  his  enemy  because  of 
the  child  in  his  care  ;  when  finally  he  had 
succeeded  in  placing  the  little  girl  where  he 
would  be  satisfied  to  leave  her,  he  himself 
was  suddenly  and  peremptorily  called  east 
to  take  a  post  in  Rupert's  Land.  He  could 
not  disobey  and  remain  in  the  Company,  and 
[230] 


Chapter  Seventeen 

the  Company  was  more  to  him  than  life  or 
revenge.  The  little  girl  he  left  in  Sacre' 
Coeur  of  Quebec  ;  he  himself  took  up  his 
residence  in  the  Hudson  Bay  country. 
After  a  few  years,  becoming  lonely  for  his 
own  flesh  and  blood,  he  sent  for  his  daughter. 
There,  as  Factor,  he  gained  a  vast  power  ; 
and  this  power  he  turned  into  the  channels 
of  his  hatred.  Graehme  Stewart  felt  always 
against  him  the  hand  of  influence.  His 
posts  in  the  Company's  service  became  in 
tolerable.  At  length,  in  indignation  against 
continued  injustice,  oppression,  and  insult,  he 
resigned,  broken  in  fortune  and  in  prospects. 
He  became  one  of  the  earliest  Free  Traders 
on  the  Saskatchewan,  devoting  his  energies 
to  enraged  opposition  of  the  Company  which 
had  wronged  him.  In  the  space  of  three 
short  years  he  had  met  a  violent  and  striking 
death  ;  for  the  early  days  of  the  Free  Trader 
[5881] 


Conjuror's  House 

were  adventurous.    Galen  Albret's  revenge 
had  struck  home. 

Then  in  after  years  the  Factor  had  again 
met  with  Andrew  Levoy.  The  man  stag 
gered  into  Conjuror's  House  late  at  night. 
He  had  started  from  Winnipeg  to  descend 
the  Albany  River,  but  had  met  with  mishap 
and  starvation.  One  by  one  his  dogs  had 
died.  In  some  blind  fashion  he  pushed  on 
for  days  after  his  strength  and  sanity  had 
left  him.  Mu-hi-kun  had  brought  him  in. 
His  toes  and  fingers  had  frozen  and  dropped 
off;  his  face  was  a  mask  of  black  frost-bit 
ten  flesh,  in  which  deep  fissures  opened  to 
the  raw.  He  had  gone  snow-blind.  Scarcely 
was  he  recognizable  as  a  human  being. 

From  such  a  man  in  extremity  could  come 
nothing  but  the  truth,  so  Galen  Albret 
believed  him.  Before  Andrew  Levoy  died 
that  night  he  told  of  his  deceit.  The  Fac- 


Chapter  Seventeen 

tor  left  the  room  with  the  weight  of  a  crime 
on  his  conscience.  For  Graehme  Stewart 
had  been  innocent  of  any  wrong  toward 
him  or  his  bride. 

Such  was  the  story  Galen  Albret  saw  in 
the  little  silver  match-box.  That  was  the 
one  flaw  in  his  consciousness  of  righteous 
ness  ;  the  one  instance  in  a  long  career 
when  his  ruthless  acts  of  punishment  or  re 
prisal  had  not  rested  on  rigid  justice,  and 
by  the  irony  of  fate  the  one  instance  had 
touched  him  very  near.  Now  here  before 
him  was  his  enemy's  son — he  wondered  that 
he  had  not  discovered  the  resemblance  be 
fore — and  he  was  about  to  visit  on  him  the 
severest  punishment  in  his  power.  Was  not 
this  an  opportunity  vouchsafed  him  to  re 
pair  his  ancient  fault,  to  cleanse  his  con 
science  of  the  one  sin  of  the  kind  it  would 
acknowledge  ? 

[233] 


Conjuror  s  House 

But  then  over  him  swept  the  same  blur 
of  jealousy  that  had  resulted  in  Graehme 
Stewart's  undoing.  This  youth  wooed  his 
daughter;  he  had  won  her  affections  away. 
Strangely  enough  Galen  Albret  confused 
the  new  and  the  old ;  again  youth  cleaved 
to  youth,  leaving  age  apart.  Age  felt 
fiercely  the  desire  to  maintain  its  own.  The 
Factor  crushed  the  silver  match-box  be 
tween  his  great  palms  and  looked  up.  His 
daughter  lay  before  him,  still,  lifeless.  De 
liberately  he  rested  his  chin  on  his  hands 
and  contemplated  her. 

The  room,  as  always,  was  full  of  con 
trast  ;  shafts  of  light,  dust-moted,  bewilder 
ing,  crossed  from  the  embrasured  windows, 
throwing  high-lights  into  prominence  and 
shadows  into  impenetrable  darkness.  They 
rendered  the  gray-clad  figure  of  the  girl 
vague  and  ethereal,  like  a  mist  above  a 
[234] 


Chapter  Seventeen 

stream  ;  they  darkened  the  dull-hued  couch 
on  which  she  rested  into  a  liquid,  impalpable 
black;  they  hazed  the  draped  background 
of  the  corner  into  a  far-reaching  distance ; 
so  that  finally  to  Galen  Albret,  staring  with 
hypnotic  intensity,  it  came  to  seem  that  he 
looked  upon  a  pure  and  disembodied  spirit 
sleeping  sweetly  —  cradled  on  illimitable 
space.  The  ordinary  and  familiar  surround 
ings  all  disappeared.  His  consciousness  ac 
cepted  nothing  but  the  cameo  profile  of 
marble  white,  the  nimbus  of  golden  haze 
about  the  head,  the  mist-like  suggestion  of  a 
body,  and  again  the  clear  marble  spot  of  the 
hands.  All  else  was  a  background  of  mod 
ulated  depths. 

So  gradually  the  old  man's  spirit,  wearied 
by  the  stress  of  the  last  hour,  turned  in  on 
itself  and  began  to  create.     The  cameo  pro 
file,  the  mist-like  body,  the  marble  hands 
[235] 


Conjurors  House 

remained  ;  but  now  Galen  Albret  saw  other 
things  as  well.  A  dim,  rare  perfume  was 
wafted  from  some  unseen  space ;  indistinct 
flashes  of  light  spotted  the  darknesses ;  faint 
swells  of  music  lifted  the  silence  intermit 
tently.  These  things  were  small  and  still, 
and  under  the  external  consciousness — like 
the  voices  one  may  hear  beneath  the  roar 
of  a  tumbling  rapid — but  gradually  they 
defined  themselves.  The  perfume  came  to 
Galen  Albret's  nostrils  on  the  wings  of  in 
censed  smoke  ;  the  flashes  of  light  steadied 
to  the  ovals  of  candle  flames ;  the  faint 
swells  of  music  blended  into  grand-breathed 
organ  chords.  He  felt  about  him  the  dim 
awe  of  the  church,  he  saw  the  tapers  burn 
ing  at  head  and  foot,  the  clear,  calm  face  of 
the  dead,  smiling  faintly  that  at  last  it 
should  be  no  more  disturbed.  So  had  he 
looked  all  one  night  and  all  one  day  in  the 
[236] 


Chapter  Seventeen 

long  time  ago.  The  Factor  stretched  his 
arms  out  to  the  figure  on  the  couch,  but  he 
called  upon  his  wife,  gone  these  twenty 
years. 

"  Elodie !  Elodie  ! "  he  murmured,  softly. 

She  had  never  known  it,  thank  God,  but 
he  had  wronged  her  too.  In  all  sorrow  and 
sweet  heavenly  pity  he  had  believed  that 
her  youth  had  turned  to  the  youth  of  the 
other  man.  It  had  not  been  so.  Did  he 
not  owe  her,  too,  some  reparation  ? 

As  though  in  answer  to  his  appeal,  or 
perhaps  that  merely  the  sound  of  a  hu 
man  voice  had  broken  the  last  shreds  of 
her  swoon,  the  girl  moved  slightly.  Galen 
Albret  did  not  stir.  Slowly  Virginia  turned 
her  head,  until  finally  her  wandering  eyes 
met  his,  fixed  on  her  with  passionate  inten 
sity.  For  a  moment  she  stared  at  him,  then 
comprehension  came  to  her  along  with 
[237] 


Conjurors  House 

memory.      She  cried  out,  and  sat  upright 

in  one  violent  motion. 
"  He  !  He  !  "  she  cried.     "  Is  he  gone  ? " 
Instantly  Galen   Albret    had  her    in   his 

arms. 
"  It  is  all  right,"  he  soothed,  drawing  her 

close  to  his  great  breast.    "  All  right.     You 

are  my  own  little  girl." 


[238] 


Chapter  Eighteen 


For  perhaps  ten  minutes  Ned  Trent  lin 
gered  near  the  door  of  the  Council  Room 
until  he  had  assured  himself  that  Virginia 
was  in  no  serious  danger.  Then  he  began 
to  pace  the  room,  examining  minutely  the 
various  objects  that  ornamented  it.  He 
paused  longest  at  the  full-length  portrait  of 
Sir  George  Simpson,  the  Company's  great 
traveller,  with  his  mild  blue  eyes,  his  kindly 
face,  denying  the  potency  of  his  official 
frown,  his  snowy  hair  and  whiskers.  The 
painted  man  and  the  real  man  looked  at  each 
other  inquiringly.  The  latter  shook  his  head. 
"  You  travelled  the  wild  country  far,"  said 
[239] 


Conjurors  House 

he,  thoughtfully.  "  You  knew  many  men 
of  many  lands.  And  wherever  you  went 
they  tell  me  you  made  friends.  And  yet,  as 
you  embodied  this  Company  to  all  these 
people,  and  so  made  for  the  fanatical  loy 
alty  that  is  destroying  me,  I  suppose  you 
and  I  are  enemies ! "  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  whimsically  and  turned  away. 

Thence  he  cast  a  fleeting  glance  out  the 
window  at  the  long  reach  of  the  Moose  and 
the  blue  bay  gleaming  in  the  distance.  He 
tried  the  outside  door.  It  was  locked.  Taken 
with  a  new  idea  he  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
third  door  of  the  apartment.  It  opened. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  and  much-lit 
tered  room  containing  a  desk,  two  chairs,  a 
vast  quantity  of  papers,  a  stuffed  bird  or  so, 
and  a  row  of  account-books.  Evidently  the 
Factor's  private  office. 

Ned  Trent  returned  to  the  main  room  and 
[240] 


Chapter  Eighteen 

listened  intently  for  several  minutes.  After 
that  he  ran  back  to  the  office  and  began 
hastily  to  open  and  rummage,  one  after  an 
other,  the  drawers  of  the  desk.  He  discov 
ered  and  concealed  several  bits  of  string,  a 
desk-knife,  and  a  box  of  matches.  Then  he 
uttered  a  guarded  exclamation  of  delight. 
He  had  found  a  small  revolver,  and  with  it 
part  of  a  box  of  cartridges. 
"  A  chance  ! "  he  exulted  ;  "  a  chance  1 " 
The  game  would  be  desperate.  He  would 
be  forced  first  of  all  to  seek  out  and  kill  the 
men  detailed  to  shadow  him — a  toy  revolver 
against  rifles;  white  man  against  trained 
savages.  And  after  that  he  would  have, 
with  the  cartridges  remaining,  to  assure  his 
subsistence.  Still  it  was  a  chance. 

He  closed  the  drawers  and  the  door,  and 
resumed  his  seat  in  the  arm-chair  by  the 
council  table. 

] 


Conjurors  House 

For  over  an  hour  thereafter  he  awaited  the 
next  move  in  the  game.  He  was  already 
swinging  up  the  pendulum  arc.  The  case 
did  not  appear  utterly  hopeless.  He  re 
solved,  through  Me-en-gan,  whom  he  di 
vined  as  a  friend  of  the  girl's,  to  smuggle  a 
message  to  Virginia  bidding  her  hope.  Al 
ready  his  imagination  had  conducted  him  to 
Quebec,  when  in  August  he  would  search 
her  out  and  make  her  his  own. 

Soon  one  of  the  Indian  servants  entered 
the  room  for  the  purpose  of  conducting  him 
to  a  smaller  apartment,  where  he  was  left 
alone  for  some  time  longer.  Food  was 
brought  him.  He  ate  heartily,  for  he  con 
sidered  that  wise.  Then  at  last  the  sum 
mons  for  which  he  had  been  so  long  in 
readiness.  Me-en-gan  himself  entered  the 
room,  and  motioned  him  to  follow. 

Ned  Trent  had  already  prepared  his  mes- 


Chapter  Eighteen 

sage  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  writing  it 
with  the  lead  of  a  cartridge.  He  now 
pressed  the  bit  of  paper  into  the  Indian's 
palm. 

"  For  O-mi-mi,"  he  explained. 

Me-en-gan  bored  him  through  with  his 
bead-like  eyes  of  the  surface  lights. 

"Nin  nissitotam,"  he  agreed  after  a  mo 
ment. 

He  led  the  way.  Ned  Trent  followed 
through  the  narrow,  uncarpeted  hall  with 
the  faded  photograph  of  Westminster,  down 
the  crooked  steep  stairs  with  the  creaking 
degrees,  and  finally  into  the  Council  Room 
once  more,  with  its  heavy  rafters,  its  two 
fireplaces,  its  long  table,  and  its  narrow 
windows. 

"  Beka — wait!"  commanded  Me-en-gan, 
and  left  him. 

Ned   Trent   had   supposed   he  was   being 


Conjurors  House 

conducted  to  the  canoe  which  should  bear 
him  on  the  first  stage  of  his  long  journey, 
but  now  he  seemed  condemned  again  to 
take  up  the  wearing  uncertainty  of  inaction. 
The  interval  was  not  long,  however.  Al 
most  immediately  the  other  door  opened 
and  the  Factor  entered. 

His  movements  were  abrupt  and  impa 
tient,  for  with  whatever  grace  such  a  man 
yields  to  his  better  instincts  the  actual  car 
rying  out  of  their  conditions  is  a  severe 
trial.  For  one  thing  it  is  a  species  of  emo 
tional  nakedness,  invariably  repugnant  to 
the  self-contained.  Ned  Trent,  observing 
this  and  misinterpreting  its  cause,  hugged 
the  little  revolver  to  his  side  with  grim  sat 
isfaction.  The  interview  was  likely  to  be 
stormy.  If  worst  came  to  worst,  he  was  at 
least  assured  of  reprisal  before  his  own  end. 

The  Factor  walked  directly  to  the   head 


Chapter  Eighteen 

of  the  table  and  his  customary  arm-chair, 
in  which  he  disposed  himself. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  commanded  the  younger 
man,  indicating  a  chair  at  his  elbow. 

The  latter  warily  obeyed. 

Galen  Albret  hesitated  appreciably.  Then, 
as  one  would  make  a  plunge  into  cold 
water,  quickly,  in  one  motion,  he  laid  on 
the  table  something  over  which  he  held  his 
hand. 

"  You  are  wondering  why  I  am  interview 
ing  you  again,"  said  he.  "  It  is  because 
I  have  become  aware  of  certain  things. 
When  you  left  me  a  few  hours  ago  you 
dropped  this."  He  moved  his  hand  to  one 
side.  The  silver  match-safe  lay  on  the 
table. 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine,"  agreed  Ned  Trent. 

"  On  one  side  is  carved  a  name." 

"  Yes." 

[245] 


Conjurors  House 

"  Whose  ?  " 

The  Free  Trader  hesitated.  "My  fa 
ther's,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  I  thought  that  must  be  so.  You  will 
understand  when  I  tell  you  that  at  one  time 
I  knew  him  very  well." 

"  You  knew  my  father  ? "  cried  Ned  Trent, 
excitedly. 

"  Yes.  At  Fort  Rae,  and  elsewhere.  But 
I  do  not  remember  you." 

"I  was  brought  up  at  Winnipeg,"  the 
other  explained. 

"Once,"  pursued  Galen  Albret,  "I  did 
your  father  a  wrong,  unintentionally,  but 
nevertheless  a  great  wrong.  For  that  reason 
and  others  I  am  going  to  give  you  your 
life." 

"  What  wrong  ? "  demanded  Ned  Trent, 
with  dawning  excitement. 

"  I  forced  him  from  the  Company." 
[246] 


Chapter  Eighteen 

"You!" 

"  Yes,  I.  Proof  was  brought  me  that  he 
had  won  from  me  my  young  wife.  It  could 
not  be  doubted.  I  could  not  kill  him.  After 
ward  the  man  who  deceived  me  confessed. 
He  is  now  dead." 

Ned  Trent,  gasping,  rose  slowly  to  his  feet. 
One  hand  stole  inside  his  jacket  and  clutched 
the  butt  of  the  little  pistol. 

"  You  did  that,"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "  You 
tell  me  of  it  yourself?  Do  you  wish  to 
know  the  real  reason  for  my  coming  into  this 
country,  why  I  have  traded  in  defiance  of 
the  Company  throughout  the  whole  Far 
North  ?  I  have  thought  my  father  was  per 
secuted  by  a  body  of  men,  and  though  I 
could  not  do  much,  still  I  have  accomplished 
what  I  could  to  avenge  him.  Had  I  known 
that  a  single  man  had  done  this — and  you 
are  that  man  ! " 

[247] 


Conjuror's  House 

He  came  a  step  nearer.  Galen  Albret  re 
garded  him  steadily. 

"  If  I  had  known  this  before,  I  should  never 
have  rested  until  I  had  hunted  you  down, 
until  I  had  killed  you,  even  in  the  midst  of 
your  own  people  ! "  cried  the  Free  Trader 
at  last 

Galen  Albret  drew  his  heavy  revolver  and 
laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Do  so  now,"  he  said,  quietly. 

A  pause  fell  on  them,  pregnant  with  possi 
bility.  The  Free  Trader  dropped  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  groaned.  "  No,  I  cannot.  She 
stands  in  the  way  ! " 

"  So  that,  after  all,"  concluded  the  Factor, 
in  a  gentler  tone  than  he  had  yet  employed, 
"we  two  shall  part  peaceably.  I  have 
wronged  you  greatly,  though  without  inten 
tion.  Perhaps  one  balances  the  other.  We 
will  let  it  pass." 


Chapter  Eighteen 

66  Yes,"  agreed  Ned  Trent  with  an  effort, 
"  we  will  let  it  pass." 

They  mused  in  silence,  while  the  Factor 
drummed  on  the  table  with  the  stubby 
fingers  of  his  right  hand. 

"  I  am  dispatching  to-day,"  he  announced 
curtly  at  length,  "the  Abitibi  brigade. 
Matters  of  importance  brought  by  runner 
from  Rupert's  House  force  me  to  do  so  a 
month  earlier  than  I  had  expected.  I  shall 
send  you  out  with  that  brigade." 

"  Very  well." 

"  You  will  find  your  packs  and  arms  in  the 
canoe,  quite  intact." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  Factor  examined  the  young  man's  face 
with  some  deliberation. 

"  You  love  my  daughter  truly  ?  "  he  asked, 
quietly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ned  Trent,  also  quietly. 
[249] 


Conjuror's  House 

"  That  is  well,  for  she  loves  you.  And," 
went  on  the  old  man,  throwing  his  massive 
head  back  proudly,  "  my  people  love  well ! 
I  won  her  mother  in  a  day,  and  nothing 
could  stay  us.  God  be  thanked,  you  are  a 
man  and  brave  and  clean.  Enough  of  that ! 
I  place  the  brigade  under  your  command! 
You  must  be  responsible  for  it,  for  I  am 
sending  no  other  white — the  crew  are  Ind 
ians  and  metis." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Ned  Trent,  indiffer 
ently. 

"  My  daughter  you  will  take  to  Sacre  Cceur 
at  Quebec." 

"  Virginia  ! "  cried  the  young  man. 

' '  I  am  sending  her  to  Quebec.  I  had  not 
intended  doing  so  until  July,  but  the  mat 
ters  from  Rupert's  House  make  it  impera 
tive  now." 

' '  Virginia  goes  with  me  ?  " 
[250] 


Chapter  Eighteen 

66  Yes." 

"  You  consent  ?     You " 

"Young  man,"  said  Galen  Albret,  not 
unkindly,  "  I  give  my  daughter  in  your 
charge ;  that  is  all.  You  must  take  her  to 
Sacrd  Cceur.  And  you  must  be  patient. 
Next  year  I  shall  resign,  for  I  am  getting 
old,  and  then  we  shall  see.  That  is  all  I  can 
tell  you  now." 

He  arose  abruptly. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  they  are  waiting." 

They  threw  wide  the  door  and  stepped  out 
into  the  open.  A  breeze  from  the  north 
brought  a  draught  of  air  like  cold  water  in 
its  refreshment.  The  waters  of  the  North 
sparkled  and  tossed  in  the  silvery  sun.  Ned 
Trent  threw  his  arms  wide  in  the  physical 
delight  of  a  new  freedom. 

But  his  companion  was  already  descend 
ing  the  steps.  He  followed  across  the  square 
[251] 


Conjurors  House 

grass  plot  to  the  two  bronze  guns.  A  noise 
of  peoples  came  down  the  breeze.  In  a 
moment  he  saw  them — the  varied  multitude 
of  the  Post — gathered  to  speed  the  brigade 
on  its  distant  journey. 

The  little  beach  was  crowded  with  the 
Company's  people  and  with  Indians,  talking 
eagerly,  moving  hither  and  yon  in  a  shifting 
kaleidoscope  of  brilliant  color.  Beyond  the 
shore  floated  the  long  canoe,  with  its  curv 
ing  ends  and  its  emblazonment  of  the  five- 
pointed  stars.  Already  its  baggage  was 
aboard,  its  crew  in  place,  ten  men  in  whose 
caps  slanted  long,  graceful  feathers,  which 
proved  them  boatmen  of  a  factor.  The 
women  sat  amidships. 

When  Galen  Albret  reached  the  edge  of 
the  plateau  he  stopped,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
the  young  man's  arm.  As  yet  they  were 
unperceived.  Then  a  single  man  caught 


Chapter  Eighteen 

sight  of  them.  He  spoke  to  another ;  the 
two  informed  still  others.  In  an  instant  the 
bright  colors  were  dotted  with  upturned 
faces. 

"  Listen,"  said  Galen  Albret,  in  his  reso 
nant  chest-tones  of  authority.  "This  is 
my  son,  and  he  must  be  obeyed.  I  give 
to  him  the  command  of  this  brigade.  See 
to  it." 

Without  troubling  himself  further  as  to  the 
crowd  below,  Galen  Albret  turned  to  his 
companion. 

"  I  will  say  good-by,"  said  he,  formally. 

"  Good-by,"  replied  Ned  Trent. 

"  All  is  at  peace  between  us  ? " 

The  Free  Trader  looked  long  into  the 
man's  sad  eyes.  The  hard,  proud  spirit, 
bowed  in  knightly  expiation  of  its  one  fault, 
for  the  first  time  in  a  long  life  of  command 
looked  out  in  petition. 


Conjuror  s  House 

"  All  is  at  peace,"  repeated  Ned  Trent. 
They  clasped  hands.     And  Virginia,  per 
ceiving  them   so,  threw  them  a  wonderful 
smile. 


Chapter  Nineteen 


Instantly  the  spell  of  inaction  broke.  The 
crowd  recommenced  its  babel  of  jests,  ad 
vices,  and  farewells.  Ned  Trent  swung 
down  the  bank  to  the  shore.  The  boat 
men  fixed  the  canoe  on  the  very  edge  of 
floating  free.  Two  of  them  lifted  the  young 
man  aboard  to  a  place  on  the  furs  by  Vir 
ginia  Albret's  side.  At  once  the  crowd 
pressed  forward,  filling  up  the  empty  spaces. 
Now  Achille  Picard  bent  his  shoulders  to 
lift  into  free  water  the  stem  of  the  canoe 
from  its  touch  on  the  bank.  It  floated, 
caught  gently  by  the  back  wash  of  the 
stronger  off-shore  current. 
[255] 


Conjurors  House 

"  Good-by,  dear,"  called  Mrs.  Cockburn. 
"  Remember  us  1 " 

She  pressed  the  Doctor's  arm  closer  to  her 
side.  The  Doctor  waved  his  hand,  not 
trusting  his  masculine  self-control  to  speak. 
McDonald,  too,  stood  glum  and  dour,  clasp 
ing  his  wrist  behind  his  back.  Richardson 
was  openly  affected.  For  in  Virginia's  per 
son  they  saw  sailing  away  from  their  bleak 
Northern  lives  the  figure  of  youth,  and  they 
knew  that  henceforth  life  must  be  even 
drearier. 

"  Som'  tarn'  yo'  com'  back  sing  heem  de 
res'  of  dat  song  !  "  shouted  Louis  Placide  to 
his  late  captive.  "  I  lak'  hear  heem !  " 

But  Galen  Albret  said  nothing,  made  no 
sign.  Silently  and  steadily,  run  up  by  some 
invisible  hand,  the  blood-red  banner  of  the 
Company  fluttered  to  the  mast-head.  Be 
fore  it,  alone,  bulked  huge  against  the  sky. 
[256] 


Chapter  Nineteen 

dominating  the  people  in  the  symbolism  of 
his  position  there  as  he  did  in  the  realities 
of  everyday  life,  the  Factor  stood,  his  hands 
behind  his  back.  Virginia  rose  to  her  feet 
and  stretched  her  arms  out  to  the  solitary 
figure. 

"  Good-by  !  good- by  ! "  she  cried. 

A  renewed  tempest  of  cheers  and  shouts 
of  adieu  broke  from  those  ashore.  The 
paddles  dipped  once,  twice,  thrice,  and 
paused.  With  one  accord  those  on  shore 
and  those  in  the  canoe  raised  their  caps  and 
said,  "Que  Dieu  vous  benisse."  A  mo 
ment's  silence  followed,  during  which  the 
current  of  the  mighty  river  bore  the  light 
craft  a  few  yards  down  stream.  Then  from 
the  ten  voyageurs  arose  a  great  shout. 

"Abitibi!  Abftibi!" 

Their  paddles  struck  in  unison.     The  water 
swirled  in  white,  circular  eddies.     Instantly 
[257] 


Conjuror's  House 

the  canoe  caught  its  momentum  and  began 
to  slip  along  against  the  sluggish  current. 
Achille  Picard  raised  a  high  tenor  voice,  fix 
ing  the  air, 

"  En  roulant  ma  boule  roulante, 
En  roulant  ma  boule." 

And  the  voyageurs  swung  into  the  quaint 
ballad  of  the  fairy  ducks  and  the  naughty 
prince  with  his  magic  gun. 

66  Derrier  chez-nous  y-a-i-un  'etang, 
En  roulant  ma  boule." 

The  girl  sank  back,  dabbing  uncertainly  at 
her  eyes.  "  I  shall  never  see  them  again," 
she  explained,  wistfully. 

The  canoe  had  now  caught  its  speed. 
Conjuror's  House  was  dropping  astern.  The 
rhythm  of  the  song  quickened  as  the  singers 
told  of  how  the  king's  son  had  aimed  at  the 
black  duck  but  killed  the  white. 
[258] 


Chapter  Nineteen 

"  Ahjils  du  roi,  tu  es  mechant, 
En  roulant  ma  boule, 
Toutes  les plumes  sen  vont  au  vent, 
Rouli  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant." 

"  Way  wik  !  way  wik  !  "  commanded  Me- 
en-gan,  sharply,  from  the  bow. 

The  men  quickened  their  stroke  and  shot 
diagonally  across  the  current  of  an  eddy. 

"  Ni-shi-shin,"  said  Me-en-gan. 

They  fell  back  to  the  old  stroke,  rolling  out 
their  full-throated  measure. 

"  Toutes  les  plumes  sen  vont  au  vent, 
En  roulant  ma  boule, 
Trois  dames  sen  vont  les  ramassant, 
Rouli  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant." 

The  canoe  was  now  in  the  smooth  rush  of 
the  first  stretch  of  swifter  water.  The  men 
bent  to  their  work  with  stiffened  elbows. 
Achille  Picard  flashed  his  white  teeth  back 
at  the  passengers, 

[259] 


Conjuror's  House 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  eet  is  wan  Ibng  way," 
he  panted.  "  C'est  une  longue  traverse  !  " 

The  term  was  evidently  descriptive,  but 
the  two  smiled  significantly  at  each  other. 

"  So  you  do  take  la  Longue  Traverse,  after 
all !  "  marvelled  Virginia. 

Ned  Trent  clasped  her  hand. 

"  We  take  it  together,"  he  replied. 

Into  the  distance  faded  the  Post.  The 
canoe  rounded  a  bend.  It  was  gone.  Ahead 
of  them  lay  their  long  journey. 


THE   END 


[260] 


38?  §>tetoart  Ctitoartu 


THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 


lfJ.R.  WHITE  has  intermingled  the  romance 
of  the  forests  with  the  romance  of  a  man's 
heart,  making  a  story  that  is  big  and  elemental, 
while  not  lacking  in  sweetness  and  tenderness. 
It  is  an  epic  of  the  life  of  the  lumbermen  in  the 
great  forests  of  the  Northwest,  permeated  in 
every  line  by  out-of-door  freshness  and  the 
glory  of  the  labor  of  the  struggle  with  nature. 
It  will  appeal  to  everyone  who  cares  for  trees, 
the  forests  or  the  open  air. 

"  Mr.  White  has  the  power  to  make  you  feel  the  woods 
as  the  masters  of  salt-water  fiction  make  you  feel  the 
sea." — The  Boston  Herald. 

"  Of  the  majesty  of  the  falling  forests  the  book  is  elo 
quent,  and  its  place  in  the  history  of  our  literature  is 
secure." — The  Chicago  News. 

"  He  has  realized  to  the  full  the  titanic  character  of  the 
struggle  between  man  and  nature  in  the  forest,  and  has 
reproduced  it  in  his  pages  with  an  enthusiasm  and 
strength  of  insight  worthy  of  his  theme." 

— The  St.  James  Gazette. 

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>tantoooti 


Author  of  "The  Pedagogues" 

THE  TRIUMPH 

r 

THE  TRIUMPH  has  fire  and  pathos  and 
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ital  story  that  will  keep  a  reader's  interest  from 
the  first  appearance  of  its  hero,  the  young  doc 
tor  Neal  Robeson,  to  his  final  triumph  —  his 
triumph  over  himself  and  over  the  lawless,  tur 
bulent  oil-drillers,  his  success  in  his  profession 
and  in  his  love  affair.  It  displays  a  delightful 
appreciation  of  .the  essential  points  of  typical 
American  characters,  a  happy  outlook  on  every 
day  life,  a  vigorous  story-telling  ability  working 
in  material  that  is  thrilling  in  interest,  in  a  set 
ting  that  is  picturesque  and  unusual.  The 
action  takes  place  in  a  little  western  Pennsyl 
vania  village  at  the  time  of  the  oil  fever,  and  a 
better  situation  can  scarcely  be  found.  Mr. 
Pier's  account  of  the  fight  between  the  out 
raged  villagers  and  the  oil-drillers  around  a 
roaring,  blazing  gas  well  is  a  masterpiece  of 
story  telling. 

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Author  of  "The  Second  Generation" 

THE  CHAMELEON 

r 

A  HE  author  uses  as  his  theme  that  trait  in 
human  nature  which  leads  men  and  women  to 
seek  always  the  lime  light,  to  endeavor  always 
to  be  protagonists  even  at  the  expense  of  the 
truth.  His  book  is  a  study  of  that  most  inter 
esting  and  pertinent  type  in  modern  life,  the 
sentimentalist,  the  man  whose  emotions  are 
interesting  to  him  merely  as  a  matter  of  experi 
ence,  and  shows  the  development  of  such  a 
character  when  he  comes  into  contact  with 
normal  people.  The  action  of  the  novel  passes 
in  a  college  town  and  the  hero  comes  to  his 
grief  through  his  attempt  to  increase  his  ap 
pearance  of  importance  by  betraying  a  secret. 
His  love  for  his  wife  is,  however,  his  saving 
sincerity  and  through  it  the  story  is  brought  to 
a  happy  ending. 

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THE  REBELLION  OF  THE 
PRINCESS 


A.  BOOK  that  is  a  story,  and  never  loses  the 
quick,  on-rushing,  inevitable  quality  of  a  story 
from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  Stirring, 
exciting,  romantic,  satisfying  all  the  essential 
requirements  of  a  novel.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
Moscow  at  the  time  of  the  election  of  Peter  the 
Great,  when  the  intrigues  of  rival  parties  over 
turned  the  existing  government,  and  the  meet 
ing  of  the  National  Guard  made  the  city  the 
scene  of  a  hideous  riot.  It  resembles  in  some 
points  Miss  Taylor's  successful  first  story,  "On 
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Author  of  "  Chimmie  Fadden,"  "  Days  Like  These,"  etc. 

LEES  AND  LEAVEN 

r 

J3lO  novel  of  New  York  City  has  ever  por 
trayed  so  faithfully  or  so  vividly  our  new  world 
Gotham  —  the  seething,  rushing  New  York  of 
to-day,  to  which  all  the  world  looks  with  such 
curious  interest.  Mr.  Townsend,  gives  us  not  a 
picture,  but  the  bustling,  nerve-racking  pageant 
itself.  The  titan  struggles  in  the  world  of 
finance,  the  huge  hoaxes  in  sensational  news- 
paperdom,  the  gay  life  of  the  theatre,  opera, 
and  restaurant,  and  then  the  calmer  and  com 
forting  domestic  scenes  of  wholesome  living, 
pass,  as  actualities,  before  our  very  eyes.  In 
this  turbulent  maelstrom  of  ambition,  he  finds 
room  for  love  and  romance  also. 
There  is  a  bountiful  array  of  characters,  admi 
rably  drawn,  and  especially  delightful  are  the 
two  emotional  and  excitable  lovers,  young  Ban 
nister  and  Gertrude  Carr.  The  book  is  unlike 
Mr.Townsend's  "  Chimmie  Fadden"  in  everything 
but  its  intimate  knowledge  of  New  York  life. 

Cloth,  12mo  $1.50 


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201*  Crockett 


Author  of  "The  Banner  of  Blue,"  "The  Firebrand" 

FLOWER  O'  THE  CORN 

r 

MR.  CROCKETT  has  made  an  interesting 
novel  of  romance  and  intrigue.  He  has  chosen 
a  little  town  in  the  south  of  France,  high  up 
in  the  mountains,  as  the  scene  for  his  drama. 
The  plot  deals  with  a  group  of  Calvinists  who 
have  been  driven  from  Belgium  into  southern 
France,  where  they  are  besieged  in  their  moun 
tain  fastness  by  the  French  troops.  A  number 
of  historical  characters  figure  in  the  book, 
among  them  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
"  Flower  o1  the  Corn  "  is  probably  one  of  Mr. 
Crockett's  most  delightful  women  characters. 
The  book  is  notable  for  its  fine  descriptions. 


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Ctittf) 


Author  of  " Every  One  His  Own  Way" 

TRUE   LOVE 

A  Comedy  of  the  Affections 

r 

JlERE  commonplace,  every-day,  ordinary 
people  tread  the  boards.  The  characters  whom 
Miss  Wyatt  presents  are  not  genuises,  or  heroes, 
or  heroines  of  romance,  but  commonplace 
persons  with  commonplace  tricks  and  common 
place  manners  and  emotions.  They  do  roman 
tic  things  without  a  sense  of  romance  in  them, 
but  weave  their  commonplace  doings  into  a 
story  of  great  human  interest  that  the  reader 
will  find  far  from  commonplace.  The  vein  of 
humorous  satire,  keen,  subtle  and  refined,  per 
meating  the  story  and  the  characterization,  sets 
this  work  of  Miss  Wyatt's  in  a  class  by  itself. 

Cloth,  12mo  $1.50 


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ffiaulme  B. 


Author  of  "The  Washingtonians" 

THE  VOICE  IN  THE 
DESERT 

r 

A  HIS  is  a  story  of  subtle  attractions  and  re 
pulsions  between  men  and  women  ;  of  deep 
temperamental  conflicts,  accentuated  and  made 
dramatic  by  the  tense  atmosphere  of  the  Ari 
zona  desert.  The  action  of  the  story  passes  in 
a  little  Spanish  mission  town,  where  the  hero, 
Lispenard,  is  settled  as  an  Episcopal  clergyman, 
with  his  wife  Adele  and  their  two  children. 
The  influence  of  the  spirit  of  the  desert  is  a 
leading  factor  in  the  story.  Upon  Lispenard 
the  desert  exerts  a  strange  fascination,  while 
upon  his  wife  it  has  an  opposite  effect  and  an 
tagonizes  her.  As  their  natures  develop  under 
the  spell  of  their  environment,  they  drift  apart 
and  the  situation  is  complicated  by  the  influ 
ence  upon  Lispenard  of  a  second  woman  who 
seems  to  typify  the  spirit  of  the  desert  itself. 
The  spiritual  situation  is  delicately  suggested 
and  all  is  done  with  a  rare  and  true  feeling  for 
human  nature. 

Cloth,  12mo  $1.50 


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fmtt  f.  38uilocfc 


Author  of  "  The  Barrys,"  "  Irish  Pastorals" 

THE  SQUIREEN 

r 

MR.  BULLOCK  takes  us  into  the  North  of 
Ireland  among  North-  of-  Ireland  people.  His 
story  is  dominated  by  one  remarkable  character, 
whose  progress  towards  the  subjugation  of  his 
own  temperament  we  cannot  help  but  watch 
with  interest.  He  is  swept  from  one  thing  to 
another,  first  by  his  dare-devil,  roistering  spirit, 
then  by  his  mood  of  deep  repentance,  through 
love  and  marriage,  through  quarrels  and  sepa 
ration  from  his  wife,  to  a  reconciliation  at  the 
point  of  death,  to  a  return  to  health,  and 
through  the  domination  of  the  devil  in  him, 
finally  to  death.  It  is  a  strong,  convincing 
novel  suggesting,  somewhat,  "  The  House  with 
the  Green  Shutters."  What  that  book  did  for 
the  Scotland  of  Ian  Maclaren  and  Barrie,  "  The 
Squireen  "  will  do  for  Ireland. 

Cloth,  12mo  $1.50 


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38  p  g>eumas 


Author  of  "Through  the  Turf  Smoke  " 

"A  LAD  OF  THE  O'FRIEL'S" 

r 

A  HIS  is  a  story  of  Donegal  ways  and  customs  ; 
full  of  the  spirit  of  Irish  life.  The  main  char 
acter  is  a  dreaming  and  poetic  boy  who  takes 
joy  in  all  the  stories  and  superstitions  of  his 
people,  and  his  experience  and  life  are  thus 
made  to  reflect  all  the  essential  qualities  of  the 
life  of  his  country.  Many  characters  in  the 
book  will  make  warm  places  for  themselves  in 
the  heart  of  the  reader. 


Cloth,  12mo  $1.50 


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«  £•  Jlason 


Author  of  "  To  the  End  of  the  TraU  " 

THE  BLUE  GOOSE 

r 

JL  HE  life  of  the  miner,  with  its  hours  of  wild 
living  above  ground,  the  dominating  influence 
of  the  greed  for  gold,  and  the  reckless  gambling 
spirit  that  is  its  very  basis  offers  grateful  mate 
rial  to  the  teller  of  stories.  Mr.  Nason  has 
taken  full  advantage  of  the  opportunity  and  of 
his  intimate  knowledge.  He  has  written  a  tale 
of  cunning  and  villany  thwarted  by  dogged 
honesty,  in  which  a  mine  superintendent  is  in 
conflict  with  his  thieving  and  vicious  employees. 
The  sweetness  and  charm  of  an  unspoiled,  win 
some  girl  brighten  the  story.  To  her  steadfast, 
romantic  love  for  the  superintendent  is  due  his 
final  triumph. 

Cloth,  12mo  SI.  50 


Co. 


f  oel  Cfmtttiler  Harris 


GABRIEL  TOLLIVER 


A  STORY  filled  with  the  true  flavor  of  South 
ern  life.  The  first  important  novel  by  the 
creator  of  "  Uncle  Remus."  Those  who  have 
loved  Mr.  Harrises  children's  stories,  will  find 
in  this  story  of  boy  and  girl  love  in  Georgia 
during  the  troublous  Reconstruction  period,  the 
same  genial  and  kindly  spirit,  the  same  quaintly 
humorous  outlook  on  life  that  characterizes 
his  earlier  work.  A  host  of  charming  people, 
with  whom  it  is  a  privilege  to  become  ac 
quainted,  crowd  the  pages,  and  their  characters, 
thoughts  and  doings  are  sketched  in  a  manner 
quite  suggestive  of  Dickens.  The  fawn-like 
Nan  is  one  of  the  most  winsome  of  characters 
in  fiction,  and  the  dwarf  negress,  Tasma  Tid, 
is  a  weird  sprite  that  only  Mr.  Harris  could 
have  created. 

'*  A  novel  which  ranks  Mr.  Harris  as  the  Dickens  of  the 
South."—  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

'*  It  is  a  pretty  love-story,  artistically  wrought,  a  natural, 
healthy  love-story,  full  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris's  inimi 
table  naivete."  —  Atlanta  Constitution. 

$1.50 


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